Santatello
by Cynlee
Summary: Six year old Donatello helps Michelangelo with a special Christmas project and years later, Mikey returns the favor.
1. Chapter 1

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Okay-- Sap-City, here we come. I find that I like writing Turtle Tot Stories. Maybe it's because I am not good at angsty stuff. Maybe it's because I need humor in my life. All I know is, this is yet another Chibi Turtles Tale, and it will end with them as teens. Then I am going to work hard on some more action stories! I must! I must, do you hear me?

TMNT are owned by Mirage. Christmas is owned by those of us who refuse to be intimidated by the few who, not merely satisfied with secularizing it, are out to totally destroy a wonderful holiday (and holy day as well)! Fight the grinches!

Summary: Six-year-old Donatello helps Michelangelo with a special Christmas wish... years later, Mikey returns the favor.

**Chapter One: You'd Better Watch Out!**

Christmas!

Now that Thanksgiving had passed, Mikey's mind was on Christmas!

When they were four, Christmas as a holiday wasn't something they'd really been aware of. It had been just a special fun day where Father didn't make them do lessons. They had played games all day, like "Hide and Seek" and "Tag" (he'd let them **run **in the lair!) and they had had all sorts of fun. They had received funny red stockings that you could not wear but had their names written on them in some glittery stuff; the stockings had been filled with apples, oranges, nuts, candies, and a small toy-- Mikey's had been a little toy horn that he'd cheerfully blown loudly and tunelessly for all of about two hours until it had mysteriously disappeared. And Father had prepared a special meal of chicken and vegetables-- and a cake, a chocolate cake!

Mikey remembered that day so clearly! He still wondered where that horn got to...

When they were five, they were more aware of Christmas as a holiday due to the wonderful Television that Don somehow got working. Father had brought in a real TREE! Mikey had never seen a real tree-- he had not been out of the sewers yet, like Leo and Raph and Don, and they had tried to describe trees to him, but it had been hard for him to understand. Splinter would occasionally bring home leaves and branches and stuff for their lessons, and Michelangelo would feel them and smell them to death, they were so fascinating. But this tree...

It was about the size of Michelangelo. He knew from pictures that it was a type of pine tree, the type used for Christmas trees! He smelled it and smelled it, trying to figure out where he'd smelled such a beautiful scent before... it kind of reminded him of the stuff they used to clean the floors with... only better... it made him happy to smell it, and he stood there whenever possible, taking in deep breath after deep breath, until Raph accused him of "trying to suck all the air out of the room so that we all die!"

They had decorated it with colored paper chains that Splinter showed them how to make, and he taught them how to string popcorn (he got these ideas, btw, from a crafts book he'd found in a dumpster, naturally). And he'd found some old ornaments that had been thrown out with broken ones-- perfectly good, but "out of fashion" probably. Michelangelo's favorite was one Santa-shaped one-- he was finally learning about Santa from the TV.

That was the year he had asked Splinter if Santa was going to come visit them!

And Splinter had no answer to give him.

"Santa comes to visit children everywhere," Mikey kept chattering about all he'd learned from the shows. "He brings presents to good little girls and boys all over the world! He slides down chimbleys and leaves presents under the tree! We gots a tree this year! Does that mean Santa is gonna come visit us?"

Splinter had listened to this hopeful chatter in silence, trying desperately to come up with the proper way to let his son down. But his other sons had their own ideas to expound upon.

"Mikey, there ain't no way Santa is comin' here to see us," Raph, busy stringing more popcorn (to replace the long string that Mikey had eaten earlier), said in an irritated yet practical voice. "We ain't humans. Santa only goes sees human kids."

Mikey frowned.

"But it don't say that in the stories," he contradicted. "It just says all the good little girls and boys-- not all the good little humans. And 'sides, I saw a show, and Santa came to give presents to **those** kids, and they was **animals**!"

"That is a cartoon," Leo chimed in, carefully hanging one of the unbroken ornaments on the tree. "Santa is a human and for real only visits humans." Said with the conviction of a really "old" five-year-old mutant turtle. "And 'sides, we don't have a chimney."

"But--" Mikey tried again, but Raph cut him off.

"Mikey, get a clue! Santa Claus is a HUMAN! An' HUMANS are not to be trusted! He can't visit us 'cause we gots to hide! Don't you listen to Master Splinter? He comes down here an' sees us, and the next thing you know, he's puttin' alla us in that bag, and takin' us to the zoo or the circus-- and NOT 'cause he likes us! Right, Sensei? He can't find us, right? He can't find us and take us away from you, can he?"

Now Splinter looked at his second oldest in amazement. He could see that the lessons regarding not trusting humans had gone home all too well with this one-- and also with Leonardo, who was nodding in agreement with Raphael. They both looked just a tiny bit concerned; a tiny bit afraid!

All their short lives he had warned them about the surface dwellers, the humans. They had seen enough TV shows and movies in the past year to reinforce those warnings.

But he also knew that this story of Santa Claus was just that-- a story that adult humans told their children. He cleared his throat to address this issue, when Michelangelo solved it for him.

"I know," he sighed deeply-- and sadly. "I know, he ain't coming to see us, even though we gots a tree. I understand."

And he forced a smile on his face and went back to work making more decorations for the tree.

Splinter's throat choked up at the disappointment of his son, and he resolved to have a private talk with him later, to explain the "tradition" of Santa Claus... but for some reason, he never got around to it.

They had hung up the stockings they had gotten the year before as part of the decorations-- though Mikey had hopes. After all, in the stories the kids hung up **their **stockings and in the morning there were presents and stuff. Maybe Santa was not the type to capture them, and would come after all and give them gifts!

Raphael and Leonardo had been reluctant to hang the stockings, also knowing of what happened in stories, and to them it was like INVITING danger into the lair. But Splinter had assured them that any gifts they found in the stockings would be from Father, not from Santa. This sort of took the surprise he had been planning away-- but it had relieved the two eldest.

Donatello, surprisingly, had kept out of the entire exchange. Splinter would have thought that, of the four, he would have been the one to expound on the myth and the nonexistence of such a human. But Donatello had quietly watched and quietly listened, and had kept making decorations.

So that Christmas had passed much as the previous one, with games and fun and treats in the stockings, and a nice meal, and a chocolate cake.

But Michelangelo had been just a bit disappointed. He just couldn't believe that someone who went all over the world giving gifts would be evil enough to snatch up four mutated turtle children and turn them over to evil people.

So, as the year advanced and the holiday season approached, Michelangelo once again thought about Santa and presents. He was more and more curious about Christmas, so much so that Splinter took him out one night instead of scavenging and, bundled up, they toured the neighborhood that Splinter had taken them trick-or-treating in this year (ANOTHER first!), and they spent a cold yet enchanting two hours looking at the Christmas lights and decorations.

To Mikey it was like stepping into one of the fairy tale books-- it was so beautiful! The colorful lights, the moving decorations, the snow, the music, the people-- Mikey feared people like he'd been taught, but he was also fascinated-- he could watch them for hours if given a chance. He wanted to MEET them, play with them-- yet knew that he never could.

"And how do they make the lights all them colors, Father?" he enthused, his breath turning to smoke before his eyes, despite the muffler that Splinter had wrapped firmly around his youngest's face. "And how do they make them blink? And how comes that house gots all white lights, and that house gots lots of colors? And where is that music coming from? And is that a reindeer statue? Do reindeer make it rain, Father? Ohhh! Looklooklooklook! They gots SANTA on the roof! Is it Christmas ALREADY? SANTA! Oh, it's a decoration? Sorry, Father! I promise I will quit shouting... LOOOOOOOK! RUDOLPH!"

He was so impressed with the entire experience that he couldn't speak with his brothers about it for several hours. He just had been so blown away with the beauty of it all!

And in his mind the Santa Claus question was pushing pushing pushing until he couldn't take it any more, and suddenly asked, in the middle of drinking hot chocolate to warm up:

"Can Santa come visit us THIS year?"

Directly, to Splinter, as if he sensed that his father was the one who kept him away, like he kept the other humans away. Maybe just this once Splinter could let him in, let him know where they lived-- after all, that whole song went "he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake"; surely that must mean he already KNEW where they lived, and since no one had come for them in all this time, he could be trusted! He didn't tell anyone!

"Not again!" Raph groaned. "Mikey, it ain't gonna happen! We're NOT HUMAN!"

"Raphael, there is no need to shout," Splinter mildly rebuked his son, then turned to Michelangelo. "My son, I am sorry, but--"

"NO problem, Sensei! I understand! Really I do!" Mikey quickly interrupted, grinning widely-- yet Splinter could tell that he was disappointed. He usually gave in like this when he did not want to hear the reasons why something couldn't happen. It let him hold on to hope...

Splinter sighed sadly, looking down for a moment. He truly wanted his sons to have as "normal" a life as possible-- and yet Fate had decreed that this not be so. Where was the harm in letting Michelangelo hope for such a visit? What harm could it do-- apart from building his expectations to such a height that whatever Splinter **did** give him in the name of Santa would surely disappoint?

He thought of the carefully saved money that he kept on hand for the important things they needed, such as milk and other fresh foods. To use it to buy toys would put their nourishment at risk... and yet, perhaps, with the help of the Sakais, he could find toys that were new enough to please yet would not take up all of his carefully hoarded money.

"My sons," he said-- hesitated-- then went on, carefully. "**Perhaps** he may come this year, if he promises me most sincerely that he will not reveal our presence to the outside world. Perhaps, this year, Santa Claus may come here."

Stunned silence for a full minute; then-- pandemonium!

Michelangelo had such a joyous look on his face, that Splinter felt that choking feeling in his throat again. His son's eyes were wide and shining, his mouth was open in the largest grin that could fit his small visage, and he seemed to glow with happiness.

"Santa is gonna come see us this year?" he barely could speak the words aloud, he was so happy! He turned to his older brother, and grabbed him. "You hear that, Donnie? Santa is gonna come see us this year! Santa! US! You and me and Leo and even Raph! Santa Claus is comin'--"

He jumped up and started dancing around the living room, singing "Santa Claus is comin' to town" at the top of his voice. The words were not perfect, the tune was only slightly better, but there was no mistaking the enthusiasm behind the performance. Mikey had already been given his first real Christmas wish: Santa was going to visit them this year!

Raphael and Leonardo exchanged worried looks.

"Uh, Sensei," Leonardo hesitantly spoke. "Is-- is he REALLY gonna come here? An' see us, and where we... where we live?"

Splinter once again was quick to pick up the note of fear in his eldest son's voice. Raphael's look mirrored Leonardo's-- they both still remembered their attempt to go topside alone and buy milk, and the scare they'd had when Splinter, in his own disguise, had shown them in a most frightening manner, why they needed to remain unseen.

Reaching out, he placed comforting hands on the two eldest.

"I promise you, my sons, that no one, not even Santa Claus, can ever take you from me! I will never allow anyone to take you from me! I swear it."

Both looked visibly relieved, while also trying to look unconcerned; after all, the two younger brothers were watching, and they had reputations to keep intact.

Splinter sighed again as he watched the antics of his youngest. What had he done? How could he ensure that he would not be disappointed?

Donatello, once again, had kept quiet throughout the entire exchange. No one could tell what his opinion was about the entire thing. He watched as his baby brother celebrated the coming visit of this so-called "person"; he noted the slight fear in the expressions of his two older brothers, in the tone of Leo's voice as he'd asked Splinter his question; he particularly was aware of his father's look of concern.

Don could tell that Splinter was torn and unhappy about this, though the smart little turtle was still not quite sure why Father felt this way.

Still, it seemed that Christmas, this year, was to be as close to a human one as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

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Yeah! Thanks for the reviews! I hope I don't disappoint! If I do, you can tell me-- I can take it sniffle-- I'm not afraid sobsobsob!

TMNT tots and all are owned by Mirage. The Sakais (store owners) are owned by me. Santa Claus is okay by me! Saying "Merry Christmas" is NOT a crime!

**Chapter Two: You'd Better Not Cry!**

The thing about sharing a room is, you tend to hear what others are saying about you.

Mikey, still riding an emotional high, had finally fallen asleep, and it was no surprise to him that his dreams led him back to the night's activity of seeing the Christmas lights, and the joyous news that Splinter was gonna allow Santa to visit them this year. His imagination was vast, and he was playing out every story, every cartoon, every movie he had seen that depicted this magical being who gave out presents to good little girls and boys.

Yet, during one exciting dream of flying with Santa in his sleigh, helping to hand out gifts and candy and other delights to children all over the world, he kept hearing someone whispering-- no, someTWO whispering!

"I'm tellin' you, I don't like it, Leo," one of the sometwo whispered, just below the sleigh. Mikey looked at Santa, but he didn't seem to hear it. "I know Father promised, but I-- I'm still-- not sure."

"I know," the other sometwo whispered back. "We gotta trust Father, though. But I agree. I feel the same way. Mikey sure gets his way around here, even if it's dangerous!"

"Yeah. I used to think being oldest would be cool, but now I see that being the baby is the best position in this family."

"Yeah. Being the baby really pays off. I hate it. Mikey gets away with everything."

"Yeah. Last time when we had a fight, I got spanked and grounded to the dojo while Father went out, and all Mikey got was sent to bed. Man! And he started it!"

"Well, of course. He started that mess in the kitchen a few days ago, and who got blamed? Me, 'cause I was in charge. Sometimes Father don't realize that Mikey don't always listen to me!"

As the whispers grew louder and clearer, Mikey's dream of helping Santa grew fainter and fainter. Mikey now actively searched the sleigh, which was now the shape and size of his own bed, going so far as to lean far out over the side-- farther-- farther--

"AAAAHHH!" THUNK!

Mikey wasn't hurt too bad, but the shock of falling out of the top bunk while half-asleep started him crying.

"Mikey? Are you okay?" Raph and Leo both asked, and Mike, opening his eyes, saw the two of them getting out of Leo's bed to help him up.

It dawned on Mikey, even as Splinter entered the room with a candle to see what the noise was, that Raph and Leo had been sitting in Leo's bed, talking about him...

His tears, first from the surprisingly rude awakening fall, now became the heartbroken sobs of a younger brother whose older ones hated him.

"My son, are you hurt?" Splinter knelt down to the crying turtle, checking him for injuries. Michelangelo couldn't answer; he was too busy crying over the knowledge that his brothers hated him because he was the baby. Splinter looked a question at Leonardo and Raphael.

"We don't know, father," Leo said honestly. "Raph and I was awake, but we don't know if he had a nightmare. He wasn't saying anything. Then he fell out of the bed!"

Splinter nodded, then carefully picked up Michelangelo and the candle, and carried him into his own room to check for injury more thoroughly and to rock him back to sleep.

Don, awake in his own bed, had heard Leo and Raph from the moment that Raph, shaking the bed with a small nightmare, had woke up and made his way to Leo's, getting in with him and waking him up. He had heard the beginning of the conversation, and was now replaying it in his mind, even as Raph went back to his own bed, and the two older turtles finally fell back asleep.

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"Leo? Leo, you awake?"

"Hmmhm... yeah, yeah Raph... bad dream?"

"Yeah... Santa caught us all and took us away."

"Yeah... I sorta dreamed something like that... but Father won't let it happen, you know! We're just-- nervous, that's all. Maybe it won't be so bad."

"Maybe... it'd be kinda neat if he did come and we got something new to play with... like a video game like on that commercial."

"Yeah, that would be cool! But I don't know, I think that Father has something to do with it. A guy who can do all that stuff? How comes there's so many commercials asking people to donate toys for needy kids at Christmas if Santa is there to give toys? I think maybe he's not really real."

"Yeah... I thought it might be too good to be true. Still, they sure do talk about him a lot. Maybe that is where he gets some of the toys nowadays-- since there's so many more kids than there used to be..."

"Could be... which means that he does come into peoples' houses..."

"Which means he could be comin' here..."

"Which means we could still be in danger..."

"I'm tellin' you Leo, I don't like it..."

Don lay there in the dark, thinking and rethinking about the entire situation. Santa Claus was a myth; a legend that was based in history and a tad in fact, which had grown in the telling over the centuries, blending different traditions with others until the present-day Santa was the magical, jolly, red-suited fat man with the long white beard and the ability to dispense toys to the children of the world. Don had read several interesting books on Christmas traditions, including the history of Santa Claus. He'd also seen a show about the "biography" of Santa as well. He knew that an actual Santa did not exist-- that "Santa" was a concept, not a being-- and yet...

And yet he had kept quiet. He had not set his brothers' minds at ease, or crushed Mikey's hopes. He had not spoken up-- perhaps if he had, then Father would not be so concerned. And Don could tell that Splinter was concerned. Don knew that Splinter would have to find a way to buy presents, and it went to his heart that his father had made the decision to find a way to not disappoint Mikey or the rest of them. Don knew better than the rest of them the true value and uses of money.

Ever since they'd started taking turns scavenging the sewers and tunnels with Splinter, they had become familiar with the green paper rectangles with the pictures of the presidents and the numbers representing value. They had found countless amounts of change (which was fun to play with), and they had weekly lessons in math using these items to help with all the basic skills.

They all knew that Splinter kept a careful supply of money for buying milk and other things-- things that could not be easily scavenged. And he had allowed them all to sometimes keep what they had found on their own, kept as treasure that made them feel "rich"-- though only Don seemed to have grasped just exactly what this stuff was.

Don sighed. Mikey sure had caused a problem with his desire to have a visit from Santa.

The door opened quietly, and Splinter, using the night light to guide him, stealthily entered the room and tucked the now sleeping Michelangelo back into his bed. He then did the same for Leonardo and Raphael, but when he got to Donatello, he was just a little surprised that this son was awake.

"Is something the matter, my son?" he whispered. "Do you need something?"

"No, Father, I'm fine," he replied. Then, as Splinter continued to look at him in the dim light. "Why didn't you just say that Santa isn't real, Father? Last year you could have said it, and this year, too. Then Mikey wouldn't be hoping for something he isn't going to get, and Leo and Raph wouldn't be scared-- and you wouldn't be worried about buying presents." He said this last part shyly, as if he were overstepping the boundary of son to father.

Splinter's eyes widened in the dark at Donatello's words. He had known that this son was more aware of things, but it always surprised him when he would demonstrate just how aware he could be!

He sighed, and shook his head.

"It is too complicated to explain late at night, in a room where your brothers are sleeping," he smiled nonetheless. "It will be all right, Donatello. Michelangelo will have his visit from Santa. Raphael and Leonardo will see that there is nothing to fear."

"And you? You still have to find a way to buy presents," Don insisted. "Don't get me anything, please! If you have to do this, just buy something for Mikey. And maybe Leo and Raph, if it helps them to not be scared anymore. But don't get me anything! Okay?"

"Shhhhh," Splinter warned him with another smile, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. "It will be all right, Donatello. I promise. Do not worry about it, please! It will be all right. Now go back to sleep. Morning will be here all too soon."

And he left without waiting to see if his son would listen. He sighed as he got back into his own bed, and tried to clear his mind. As he had rocked Michelangelo earlier, he had learned a small part of his son's heartache, though he would not go into greater detail-- after all, he did not want the label of "tattletale" added to the one of "baby"-- so he had said that he had **dreamed** that Leo and Raph hated him because of Santa.

Splinter, however, knew his sons too well. He accepted this story with words of reassurance, and eventually he persuaded Michelangelo to tell him what he had enjoyed the most of their walk through the neighborhood. Distracted by the memories, Michelangelo had talked himself into a happy calmness, and fallen asleep in mid sentence.

Now he turned his mind to the others. Leonardo and Raphael had enjoyed Trick-or-Treating, despite their boldly addressing humans for the first time. Perhaps he could use that experience to calm their fears about Santa.

He did not wish to tell Michelangelo that Santa was not real-- not at this time. They had so few things to hold onto at times. This belief made his son happy, and he would rather see him happy than disillusioned. There would be time enough for that later, when he was older.

And Splinter was not completely against the concept of "Santa"-- at least, he felt he understood the sentiment behind the myth. Surely he was not the only parent who wanted to make his children happy.

But Donatello...

Splinter shook his head once again, and laughed quietly. Now he **was** committed to getting presents for each of them, especially this practical, caring son. Somehow it would be all right. He went back to sleep.

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Splinter was out scavenging. Leo was in charge. Raph was practicing in the dojo-- he'd been given special permission to do so, and that had made him happy-- and Don was sitting on the couch, watching another Christmas show with Mikey.

Mikey had woke up happy once again, the hurtful whispers of the night a part of his dreams, and his upcoming Santa visit once again dominating his waking thoughts.

"We gotta leave out milk and cookies," he was chattering to Don as they watched "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" yet again. "We gotta write a note for Santa and leave it out with the milk and cookies. I hope Father brings home some cookies! I forgot to tell him!"

Don was only partly listening. He was trying to figure out how this old animated film had been made without computers...

"Um-hmmm," he absently responded every now and then, while trying to work out how they got the figures to move like that.

"Oh, and I wonder if we can wait up for him! I saw this one show, and the kids waited up, and they was able to TALK to Santa! Ohhhhhh, do you think WE could do that, Donnie? Just you and me," he added, lowering his voice, as Leo was sitting in Splinter's chair, reading a book. "You and me can do that-- you're not scared of Santa, right Don?"

"Nawww..." How the heck did they make the reindeer fly, if it was all models that had to be moved a bit at a time? They didn't **look** like they were hanging from wires...

"Yeah, just you and me! We'll stay up and--" Mikey, mid sentence, suddenly froze as this old commercial came on-- he knew it was an old one because it looked like the show they'd been watching.

Santa was in it! Santa was in it, riding on a funny-looking machine, while some people were singing "Jingle Bells"-- only the words weren't the ones he knew.

"Closer shave, closer shave..." he heard, and fascinated, he watched this commercial as some human with some sort of real short fur on his face took this machine and ran it over his chin, cheek, and upper lip-- and the fur was GONE!

"Donnie! What was that?" he finally asked, excited beyond belief.

"That? It's called an electric shaver," Don, distracted by the fact that the commercial was animated in the same manner as the show, gave the answer without concern. If he knew what was going through his little brother's mind, however, he would have shut up at once.

"What's an 'lectric shaver do?"

"It shaves a man's face. See, humans have hair--"

"Like Splinter?"

"Well, yeah, sort of like Splinter. And men humans grow hair on their faces--"

"Wow! Why do they do that?"

"Well, they don't just DO that, Mikey-- it just happens. Anyway, some human men shave off the hair before it gets to long--"

"Like Splinter?"

"Ummmm... yes and no," Don was finally focusing on the interest of Mikey. "Most human men don't like beards and mustaches."

"Santa has a beard and mustache! He must like it, right?"

Leo, in the chair, sighed, closed his book, and headed into the dojo. His little brother's constant Santa chatter had finally become too much for the older turtle to bear, and he thought that joining Raph would be better than starting an argument.

"Uh, Mikey, why are you so interested?" Don finally asked, as the show restarted.

"So 'lectric shavers are for men to get rid of the hair on their faces..." Mikey repeated thoughtfully, ignoring Don's question. The clever brother could see the wheels turning in his younger sibling's brain.

"Mikey! What are you planning?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing! Nothing at all!" he grinned, turning his eyes back to the TV.

But his mind was suddenly filled with the bestest of bestest ideas in the entire world of bestest ideas:

He was gonna get Splinter an 'lectric shaver for Christmas!


	3. Chapter 3

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Man! I am so happy that you like this! MORE pressure on me to not disappoint! I hope that I can keep you coming back for more.

TMNT and Splinter are owned by Mirage. "Merry Christmas" is owned by those with the guts to say it!

**Chapter Three: You'd Better Not Pout!**

"A **what**?" Don said at the end of the show, when he and Mikey were alone in the kitchen.

Splinter was due back in a little while, and Don was helping Mikey get the basics ready for supper. Leo and Raph were still in the dojo, avoiding their Santa-loving brother at all costs.

"A 'lectric shaver!" Mikey repeated, getting the potatoes ready to scrub. He and Splinter were going to bake them tonight-- baked potatoes tasted so good this time of year, and Mikey had found a topping recipe that he and Father agreed sounded very appetizing. "You can **build** one, and we can give it to Father! It's perfect!"

"Mikey," Don was still shaking his head at this suggestion. What possessed Mikey to think that Splinter wanted-- no, NEEDED-- an electric shaver? "Mikey, I can't build one."

Mikey, in the middle of scrubbing the first potato, turned a disbelieving eye on his older brother.

"Don! You built the TV! You can build this!"

"I didn't build the TV, Mikey," Don explained. "Splinter and I found the TV, and parts for the TV, and eventually we figured out how to make it work! Someone else built the TV."

"But..." Mikey was confused, as well as a bit shaken in his faith in Don's abilities. "But you build LOTS of stuff!"

"Yes, but most of it doesn't work, and a lot of it I just repair," Don said, helping with the potatoes. "Mikey, I can't build a TV from scratch-- I have to have parts. And I can't 'build' an electric shaver. I would need one already made, and even then, I don't think I could fix it. I don't know about them."

Mikey looked as if someone had told him that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Next to this belief in this jolly being who dispenses toys to the entire world, his belief in his brother's ability to do anything was only just behind his belief in his father's all-powerful nature-- which was his most powerful, most rock-steady belief there was.

Even so, his mind was quickly turning over possible solutions.

"So! What you're saying is, you NEED an 'lectric shaver to **make** an 'lectric shaver!"

Don looked again at this brother, and wondered at his determination.

"Uh, yeah-- I would need one from the junk yard-- and even then, I don't think I could fix it," he said, scrubbing a potato. "Mikey, some stuff is hard to fix. That's why it's in the junk yard. And 'sides, I've never seen one in the junk yard."

"That's 'cause you wasn't looking! When are you going with Splinter again?"

"Not for another month or two," he broke the news to him. "We don't need to go, and in winter we don't go unless we really really really need something. And we do not really really really need something right now."

Mikey wanted to argue. **He** needed something! But he refrained from saying.

"Why are you so set on an electric shaver anyway?" Don was curious in spite of himself.

"Well," Mikey said carefully, as he began on another potato. "It's just that Santa only brings stuff to kids, right? He don't bring stuff to the grownups. Splinter is a grownup, and he should have a present. After all, he's our father! He is a GOOD father, too! And 'sides, when he was a kid, he wasn't a kid like we are now, so Santa probably never brought him anything. And now he's too old! So, I was thinking, I could get him something, and we could give it to him, only it would mostly be from me since it's my idea."

And he attacked yet another potato with the scrubber, as if he would remove the skin with the dirt.

Don shook his head at this logic. He, too, scrubbed another potato, thinking hard. They worked in silence until they had enough for the family plus a few extras just in case.

Mikey got the oven ready. Splinter trusted him to start it without his supervision, ever since the time when he was cooking for his brothers and himself when Splinter was too ill to take care of them. Mikey had been so proud of this privilege! NONE of the others were allowed to mess with the oven! Baby indeed!

"I know!" he shouted suddenly, spinning around and facing Don. "I know! I can BUY it! I can buy it with MONEY!"

Don just stared at Mikey in shock. How the heck...

"Mikey, I don't think..."

"It's perfect!" Mikey was not to be dissuaded. "It's my turn to go to the grocery with Splinter! The lady there-- she is nice! I could take some of my money that I've saved, and give her a note, and ask her to sell me the 'lectric shaver! Why didn't I think of it before?"

And he bolted from the kitchen into their bedroom to get his money.

Each of the turtles had what he considered the bestest of secret hiding places around the lair. Mikey's was in a small hole in him mattress that he'd discovered when he was four-- he wasn't quite clear on the details, but he had a vague memory of finding it around the time that Raph found out that Mikey had taken one of Raph's soldiers... he'd found it, and stuffed the toy into it, and then pretended to be asleep. Splinter had searched the bed at the insistence of Raphael, but no soldier could be found.

As time went on, Mikey's most precious treasures found their way into that hole-- sometimes he had to rethink the value of such things, as the mattress would be too lumpy to sleep on.

He had since found a second hiding place for the more uncomfortable stuff, but the money Splinter allowed him to keep ended up there, especially after he'd seen something on TV about some person keeping their money in **their** mattress. It was PERFECT!

Not realizing that Don had followed him and was watching, Mikey dug out two fistfuls of the green papers, and cheerfully spread them on his bed. It was a LOT! At least one five and eight ones... Thirteen dollars! Wow! He hadn't realized that he was so rich!

Spying Don in the room, he grinned in triumph.

"See, Don? I can buy the present! I'm gonna write a letter to that lady who owns the store, and I'm gonna leave this money and take an 'lectric shaver..."

"Whoa, Mikey!" Don interrupted, climbing up on his brother's bed. "First of all, Splinter doesn't allow anyone to touch anything in the store-- unless he hands it to you! That is a big rule! I touched one of the magazines there 'cause it looked interesting, and he popped me a good one! Same with Leo and Raph! They both got tagged pretty hard for touching stuff. Splinter keeps a sharp eye out!"

Mikey sagged momentarily, but his mind was working fast.

"I know! Father will go there one more time before Christmas-- I saw it marked on the calendar! I can leave the letter with the money, and ask her to make sure that she fixes it so he don't know what it is but he has to bring it home anyway! How's that for a plan?"

And the hopeful, eager look he gave Donnie was such that the clever turtle couldn't argue with him. Poor Mikey! He so wanted to do this...

Donnie looked at the meager amount of money. He wasn't sure, but he was pretty confident that two flaws existed in his brother's plan. The first: he was pretty sure that the Sakais did not sell electric shavers. Second: Even if they did, thirteen dollars was not going to be enough.

He looked again at his beaming, hopeful brother-- he could tell that Mikey was waiting for him to praise him for being so clever-- and he sighed. Is this how Splinter feels sometimes? he wondered vaguely, looking at the eagerness in his brother's eyes.

"Um... you're gonna need more money than that, Mikey," he slowly said. He climbed down from the bed, crossed the room, and, trusting that his brother was not looking, opened up his own hiding place of treasures-- hidden cleverly in a specially carved out space in their meager closet wall. He climbed back on the bed with what money he'd managed to find: a ten dollar bill, three fives, and two ones.

Somehow, he still thought that forty dollars would not be enough, but he also figured that Mrs. Sakai would not be able to fill Mikey's request anyway. At least it would not be Donnie to let his brother down!

Before Mikey could thank his brother properly, the door opened in the living room, and everyone heard the welcome voice of their father calling to them to help him come put away the supplies.

"Aww, Don!" Mike managed as they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for instructions. "I owe you one, big time!"

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The next few days passed with their usual joys and sorrows. Lessons were taught and learned. Arguments broke out and were resolved. And more and more Mikey counted the days until he would go with Father to the store and do this great thing! He was almost more excited by the prospect of getting a gift for Splinter than he was about his upcoming visit from Santa!

And the dread of Leo and Raph grew as each day drew closer to Christmas. They couldn't even bear to watch the shows anymore, and spent a lot of time "practicing" in the dojo. Splinter tried to reason with them, reminding them of their Halloween experience, and they tried to act like he wanted them to act-- but each harbored that secret fear that this Santa was someone who could very well pose a danger to the family.

Mikey, in the privacy of his room (when they were in the dojo), labored upon his letter to Mrs. Sakai. He wouldn't even show it to Don for proofreading, he was so secretive. He wanted to do this all on his own, despite the fact that Don had put in his own money. Whenever he heard one of the others approaching, he would hurriedly hide the evidence and act innocent; a sure sign to Leo and Raph that Mikey was up to something.

Splinter brought home a tree. It was even more beautiful than the one from last year-- at least, to Mikey it was! That was because **this** year Santa was coming! Mikey danced around the tree, cheering and whooping until Splinter had to admonish him in with a sharp _"Rokuni_!", resorting to Japanese to get his meaning across.

Decorated with the most loving of care by Michelangelo and (to a lesser extent) his brothers, all that stood between Mikey and his perfect surprise was one more night.

The day of the planned trip to the grocery, Mikey was extra-diligent in his lessons. NOTHING was gonna prevent him from going with Splinter tonight; NOTHING!

Until Raph walked in on Mikey writing for the tenth time his letter to Mrs. Sakai.

Raph, seeing his brother scribbling so carefully on the paper, and taking in the piles of discarded efforts, came to the wrong conclusion:

"You're writing to SANTA?"

Mikey jumped, messing up an almost perfect letter. He quickly snatched it behind his back and stood defensively, looking guiltily at Raph.

"No! I'm not writing to anyone," he said, keeping his treasured note protected.

"Yeah, right," Raph growled. "You're writin' a letter to Santa! I know you are! You been talkin' about leaving a note out for him with milk and cookies, and you're in here writin' it now. Christmas is like weeks away."

He moved towards his brother, torn between curiosity and fear. What had Mikey put in that note?

"Leave me alone, Raph!" Mikey, suddenly fearful, warned him. He was startled when Raph started to approach, and tried to back away, but the bunk bed was between him and the door. "It's none a your business any ways!"

"Come on, little brother! Let's see whatcha wrote to the human who's gonna snatch us all up!" And Raph made a grab towards Mikey. He knew how to maneuver him so that he would be pinned; he'd done this before, trying to get stuff from Mikey that usually belonged to Raph in the first place.

"No! It's not your business! Leave me alone!" Mikey's voice. raised and quavering, did nothing to put off Raph. If anything, it egged him on.

"Come on, let me see it!" Raph said again, and he faked a move to the left. Mikey fell for it, and before he could escape to the right, Raph had him effectively pinned and had deftly plucked the letter from Mikey's stunned hand.

"NO!" Mikey bellowed in a tone that surprised his older brother. But Raph was not put off.

"Come on, where's the harm in my readin' this?" he teased, backing up and holding out the letter. He'd done stuff like this a million times before, and he always knew how Mikey would react: he'd try to snatch it a few times, then cry like a baby for Splinter. But Raph didn't care this time. He was deep down scared and he was showing it by his treatment of his baby brother. "I'm gonna read it, Michelangelo! Here I go..."

What happened next was talked about for years.

"NO!" Mikey screamed-- only in anger! Mikey screamed in such anger that Raph was momentarily stunned-- just enough for him to fail to block the flying kick that Mikey had launched at his plastron.

Raph was sent crashing into the far wall, and he fell to the floor. Before he knew what was happening, Mikey was astride him, pummeling him fast and hard and furiously, shouting incoherently and angrily about privacy and Christmas and 'lectric shavers and "GIVE IT BACK!"

Then Splinter was in the room, pulling Michelangelo off of his bleeding brother. Still he kept fighting and shouting, tears of monumental proportions streaming from his eyes even as the words of hatred for his older brother poured from his lips.

"I want it back! I hate you! I hate all of you! Give it back! It's mine! It's MINE!"

Twisting, squirming, fighting his father to get loose and attack his brother, who was now partially protected by Leonardo and Donatello in case Splinter couldn't hold onto this wild turtle. But Splinter was stronger by far; and his anger was even greater than his son's.

"Hamato Michelangelo, **_Rokuni_**!"

His voice was terrible to hear-- like the loudest thunder echoing through the tunnels during the most horrible of storms!

Mikey froze, coming to himself. He was breathing hard, sobbing without realizing he was sobbing, and staring with such anger at Raphael that he couldn't unclench his fists. Splinter carefully put him down, forced him to look in his father's eyes.

"Do not move," he said, and those three words, spoken with such force yet so quietly, caused the other three to flinch in reaction. Mikey did not move-- except to sob heavily, to breath hard and in a ragged way.

He was having a hard time catching his breath. The sobs were in control, the angry sobs were still master of him. And they were being joined by a different type of sob; the sobs of heartbreaking realization.

He stood there, not moving, as he'd been ordered, sobbing and clenching his fists until his nails were biting into his palms. Staring at his brothers, he could see the shock in all their faces. He could see the anger and disappointment in Splinter's entire body language. He could see the blood that he'd drawn in his attack on his older brother. He could see all this, but he couldn't think straight, he couldn't focus on anything, he couldn't concentrate on any thought beyond one glaring fact:

He had just ruined his chance to have Santa visit!


	4. Chapter 4

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Hey! It's like Christmas came early for me! So many new people are reading my little fiction. Thank-you one and all. I am truly grateful. MORE Pressure on me!

TMNT including Chibi turtles are owned by Mirage. Santa Claus is a personal friend of mine, and he says that Christmas is okay by him.

**Chapter Four: I'm Telling You Why**

Splinter knelt down by Raphael, and turned to Donatello.

"Get the first aid kit, please," he said, pulling a rag from his robe's pocket and beginning to mop up some of the blood pouring from his son. "This lip is split, and it will sting mightily when I put the medication on it. I cannot bandage it. Fortunately we do not need to stitch it. Leonardo, we will need some ice in a cloth."

Both sons were back in no time. Nothing seemed to have changed. Mikey stood exactly where Splinter had told him to, and Raph was seated on the floor, being tended to by the irate father.

"Un, Sensei," Leo hesitated, and when Splinter looked up, he motioned to Mikey. "I think his knuckles are bleeding."

Sure enough, blood was dripping from Mikey's right hand, landing in little soft "paft"s on the floor and making a small but noticeable puddle.

"Here," Splinter said, handing some of the supplies to Donatello. "Take care of your brother's hand." Then he turned his attention back to Raphael.

Donnie went over to Mikey, but his little brother looked scary. He was still sobbing, though hardly making any noise, and he still would not unclench his fists.

"Come on, Mikey," Donnie urged him, trying to take his hand. "Let me fix--"

Mikey snatched his hand away from Donnie roughly, but Splinter, though his back was to his son, heard the slight gasp that Donnie gave.

"Comply!" he snapped, and Mikey without hesitation presented his hand for his brother's inspection. The knuckles were bleeding, but Don was able with Leo's help to clean and bandage them. Both brothers were sure that once Don put the peroxide on them, that Mikey would finally make some noise-- but aside from the continued sobs, nothing escaped his mouth. And all the time he stared at Raph, stared anger and hatred and sorrow and---

"Now," Splinter said, sitting back from his efforts. "What started this?"

Raph gulped. He knew he was in for it for sure.

"Mikey was writin' somethin', and I accused him of writin' to Santa, and I snatched it from him and teased him about it," he said, simply, his rapidly swelling split lip hindering some of his words. He didn't defend himself. He knew there was no defense. He prepared himself for the brunt of the punishment.

Splinter turned to Michelangelo, who, once the bandages were in place, had gone back to clenching his fists, still sobbing angrily, though not loudly-- still looking daggers at his brother.

"Is this the truth?" he asked. It took all of Mikey's power to shake his head yes. This, he knew, would get him into more trouble. Splinter demanded verbal answers. This time was no exception.

"Michelangelo!"

"Hai, sensei," he snapped out, still breathing hard, still so incredibly angry.

"Go to the dojo, stand in the corner, and wait for me."

Mikey, without question, without pleading, without puppy dog eyes, turned smartly and went off to do as he was told.

Splinter turned to Raphael, who looked startled to say the least. Usually it was **he** who was sent to the dojo. Usually **he **was required to stand in the corner to wait for Splinter. What the heck...

"You were wrong to tease your brother in this manner. You know how he feels regarding this business of Santa Claus. But he was wrong to react so violently," Splinter said firmly, then sighed. "You are to go to bed at once. You are grounded to this room until I return tonight. You may only leave to use the bathroom, and even then the number of times you request this from Leonardo will be noted."

This warning about abusing the privilege was not needed. Raphael was so amazed that he'd not been the one sent to the dojo for a possible spanking, he sure as heck wasn't going to risk one later.

Now he turned to the other two.

"Michelangelo was to come with me tonight. Normally I would give his turn to you, Leonardo, but under the circumstances I will need you to stay home."

"May I come?" Donatello suddenly piped up. "Please? I know it's not my turn, but-- please, may I come?"

This took Splinter by surprise. Donatello enjoyed going, but whenever an extra chance presented itself, he preferred to stay home. He had never vied for the chance to go in someone else's place-- except if that place was to the junk yard.

Splinter nodded, thinking no more of it. He had other fish to fry.

"Very well. Raphael, get into bed. We will discuss any further punishment tomorrow."

"Hai, sensei," he responded, and got ready for bed without fuss or question.

"Leonardo, get him some more ice so that he may keep it on his lip," Splinter said, leaving the three in the room.

No one spoke-- no one dared to speak. Don, looking lost for a moment, shook himself and went to the closet to get the clothing he would need to wear topside.

On the ground, crumpled, but miraculously with no blood stains-- the letter than Raph had snatched from Mikey. Without a word he picked it up, folded it, and carried the clothes into the living room. No one questioned his movements, and that was just as well.

As soon as he was dressed, he read the finished note, slightly marred by a stray pen mark from where Mikey had been startled by Raph.

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"Dear Mrs. Sakai,

I am Hamato Michelangelo. I liked your pies at Thanksgiving. They were delicious! I need a favor. I want to buy-- I mean, my brother and I want to buy an elektrick shaver for our father for Christmas. He is gonna let Santa know where we live so we can have him visit this year, but I know that Santa doesn't bring presents to grownups. I saw this commercial and the Santa was riding on the elektrick shaver, and that is the one I- I mean **we** want to buy. Here is all our money! It is a lot! I am sure it is enough to buy the present with. Please don't let Father know, just wrap it up and when he comes here next time fix it so he will know to bring it home but don't tell him what it is 'cause it is a SURPRISE! I hope you can do this. Thank-you again for the pies at Thanksgiving they were delicious! You don't have to wrap the present fancy I can do that but just wrap it so he don't know what it is. Thank-you again! Your friend Michelangelo P.S. The pies were delicious!"

Donnie went back into the room. Raph was in bed, holding the ice pack to his lip. Curiously he watched as Donnie climbed up to Mikey's bed and retrieved the envelope with the money in it, but he didn't ask his brother what he was doing, and Don offered no explanation.

In the kitchen, he found a pen and added a note of his own to the letter.

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"Dear Mrs. Sakai,

I am Hamato Donatello. I know that you do not sell electric shavers, but I cannot convince my brother of this fact. But could you please take this money and get us something that we could give our father for Christmas? Mikey won't mind what it is. He was supposed to deliver this note in person, but he got into a fight and will be grounded for a long time. I am sorry to ask you to do this. I am sure you are busy. But my brother has so been looking forward to this visit by Santa, and he so wanted to get a present for Father, and now he is in so much trouble... **I** know there is no Santa, but Mikey doesn't, and now that he has gotten into all this trouble, at least I want to make sure that he can give Father a present for Christmas. Does that make sense? Anyway, thank-you even if you cannot help us. Sincerely, Donatello."

He carefully put the note into the envelope with the money and just as carefully addressed it to Mrs. Sakai. Then he put it inside his jacket and waited for Splinter.

In the dojo, Mikey stood as he'd been bidden, in the corner. The sobs had subsided to one or two hiccupy breaths every now and then, and the fists had finally unclenched of their own accord, too tired and too defeated to maintain the defiant mood any longer. He stared at the floor, seeing in his mind's eye Santa flying farther and farther and farther away, until Christmas was gone from his thoughts.

He kept replaying the entire incident in his mind-- how could he have been so angry?

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Because he deserved it! Raph deserved it and more! YOU know this! He's always picking on you and he needed his shell kicked by you just once!

No, he didn't deserve it. Sure he had teased Mikey like this time and again, and yes, they had had fights before. But Mikey had never drawn blood on a brother-- and Raph, though he hit hard, had never drawn blood on him. 'Sides, it was just a dumb letter. Why get angry over a dumb letter?

"Now Santa can't visit," he sniffled in a whisper. He knew the stories. He knew the Santa rules: "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake-- he knows if you've been bad or good..."

Well, he certainly had been bad! All his life Splinter had told them all that they must never hurt each other deliberately, and he had deliberately hurt Raph. It didn't matter that Raph had started it. He shouldn't have hurt his brother like that.

And as he stood there, waving a depressed yet understanding good-bye to Santa, it suddenly occurred to him: he can't go tonight! He can't go tonight and leave the note and get the present for Splinter!

He sank down in a crouch and gave himself up to his misery! Not only had he ruined his own Christmas, he had ruined a special present for his father!

Tears of such heartbreaking sorrow coursed down his already tearstained face, and he rocked himself back and forth on his little feet, hugging his knees and wishing that he could just disappear.

The door opened, and he immediately stood up, gulping desperately, forcing himself to stop crying. His punishment had arrived.

Splinter, entering the dojo with a chair from the kitchen, had caught a momentary glimpse of his son's misery. But he had no sympathy at the moment. His son had acted with hatred and such anger that rivaled anything Raphael had ever exhibited in his worst temper tantrums.

Splinter set the chair down in the center of the dojo, sat down, and addressed Michelangelo.

"Come here," he said simply, and Mikey, reluctant but compliant, crossed to the center and stood before his father, taking the respectful stance that was expected of him. Splinter eyed him for a moment. "What have you to say in your defense?"

"Nothing," he replied softly. Then he cleared the crying from his throat, and forced his voice to be stronger. "I was wrong. I was mad and I let myself be mad, and I shouldn't have attacked Raph like that. I meant to hurt him and I know that is wrong. I am sorry. I don't hate him. I don't hate anyone. I-- I do not defend my actions."

Splinter eyed him a little while longer. He could tell that this was sincere, and not an attempt to escape his punishment. Inwardly he sighed; he hated what he must do, but they all knew the rule, and he, being the one to make this rule, had to enforce it.

"Very well. You know what to do."

Mikey stepped up and lay across Splinter's lap. Splinter administered ten swats to his son; hard, stinging swats.

In the back of Mikey's mind, he wondered what was it with Master Splinter and the number ten-- ten minutes in a corner, ten flips, ten swats-- it must be some mystical thing.

"Now, you will stay in the dojo until I return," Splinter said, as Michelangelo stood up. "You may sit in this chair, but you are not confined to it or the corner. You may ask Leonardo for water or trips to the bathroom, but the number of such requests will be noted. You are grounded to the Lair for the next two weeks-- and you will not go topside for the next two months."

"Hai, Sensei," Michelangelo bowed, and was secretly pleased that he'd managed to not cry throughout this entire ordeal.

Splinter arose and without another word left the dojo to prepare for his trip.

Mikey just stood there, the most miserable turtle in the whole wide world.

Donnie slipped inside, dressed for top side. Fearful of being caught, he quickly crossed to his brother and put an arm around him.

"Don't worry! I'm gonna deliver the letter!"

"Donatello! Let us leave!"

Before Mikey could say anything, his older brother had already bolted from the room.

A small glimmer of hope formed in Mikey's imagination. From a vast distance, he could see Santa give him a wink.

Maybe **this** was going to be his present from Santa-- a chance to get Splinter **his** present after all.

Suddenly it didn't seem so hopeless. Mikey had lost his own visit from Santa, but Splinter would have a present!

All thanks to Donnie.

"Aww, Don," he said to the empty room. "Thanks! Thanks a lot!"

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Leo entered the bedroom with more ice for Raph. His lip had stopped bleeding long ago, but the swelling was still pronounced.

"You want anything to eat?" Leo asked, sitting on the bed.

Raph sat up and sighed.

"Nope. Man, Leo, Mikey was crazy! I never seen him like that before." He tenderly felt his lip, and a half smile appeared on his face. "I think that he is gonna be a great fighter. My chest hurts where he kicked me." Sure enough, Leo could see a faint darkening on the plastron.

"You're lucky he didn't really hurt you," Leo said, the memory of their little brother screaming out such things like "I hate you! I hate you all!" still fresh in his mind. "What was in that letter, do you think?"

"Dunno. I thought he was writin' a note to Santa Claus," Raph shrugged, holding the ice once again to his throbbing lip. "I guess it kinda made me mad. I know Father said we are not to worry, but Leo-- I'm worried!"

"Well, I don't think we've got to worry any more," Leo said. "I just went in to see if Mikey was okay, and he says that we don't have to worry any more, that Santa won't be coming."

Raph sat up straighter.

"How does he know?"

Leo sighed, and looked sad as he told Raph about what Mikey had said.

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"Uh, Mikey-- you need anything?"

"No."

A pause. An awkward pause. Mikey is perched on the chair, staring at the floor. His feet are drawn up so he can hug his knees, and he is sort of rocking himself back and forth, as if he imagines that his father is rocking him in the old rocking chair, telling him it will be all right.

Leo clears his throat, moves closer.

"Cheer up, Mikey! Soon it'll be Christmas, and all this will be forgotten."

Mikey slowly shakes his head.

"You and Raph don't gots to worry no more, Leo. Santa isn't comin' this year. Probably never."

"What do you mean?"

"Santa only comes to good boys and girls. I was bad. I got mad at Raphy. I-- I hit him and kicked him and made him bleed. I told him I hate him. I told you all I hate you. Santa isn't gonna come now. He knows when you're bad."

"How can he know that? We know you're not bad! Raph knows you were mad! We know you don't hate us."

"Doesn't matter. He knows if you've been bad or good-- that's in the song, and in the stories, and everything. I blew it. I blew it big time."

He sighs. He is all cried out. No tears can form anymore. He is resigned to the inevitable. No Santa for him this year.

He looks at Leo, and manages a small smile.

"Anyways, you and Raph can stop being afraid. He's not coming. You guys can stop being afraid."

And he goes back to rocking himself, staring at the floor, and Leo, unable to comfort his baby brother, reluctantly leaves him alone.

Raph looked exactly the way Leo felt.

"Man, I really feel..."

Leo nodded.

"Yeah, I know. Well, at least we don't have to worry..."

But they each sat there, thinking furiously about a very unhappy little brother who had only wanted what a lot of kids wanted: a visit from Santa.


	5. Chapter 5

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Oh! Thank-you! Thank-you! The pressure keeps building with each review! shudders, becomes afraid to write! Some of the info in this chapter I got from a cool website called (I imagine you have to add the www). I suppose, to prevent the P.C. police from pulling me over and ticketing me, I must state that the information included in Splinter's little talk does not advocate any personal agenda etc. etc. etc., although I do admit freely to shouting MERRY CHRISTMAS in crowded buildings like department stores and classrooms...

TMNT are not mine, they belong to Mirage. I wish Chibi turtles were real. I'm asking Santa for one for Christmas!

**Chapter Five: Santa Claus is...**

Once home, Donatello slipped into their room and quickly undressed. He wanted to be there when Splinter let Mikey out of the dojo-- he wanted to find a chance to let his little brother know that things went well, and it would be all right.

And he had something that hopefully would make his little brother happy!

Raph was sitting up in bed, looking sadder than Don had ever remembered seeing him.

"What's wrong, Raph?" Don couldn't help asking. "You didn't get blamed a lot, and you didn't get the spanking this time. Mikey got it-- and double grounded as well."

Raph shifted uneasily in the bed. He was waiting for Splinter to tell him he could leave the room. He, too, wanted a chance to talk to Mikey-- but for different reasons.

"Don," he finally said. "Me and Leo... well, we aren't really afraid of a lot of stuff..."

"Except live bugs and the toaster," Don, despite the circumstances, managed to laugh.

"We... dang it, Mikey told Leo that Santa ain't comin' now, 'cause he was bad, and now I feel bad, especially 'cause I feel so glad that he isn't comin', even though that makes me feel bad 'cause Mike is feelin' sad, yet I still feel glad, and yet I feel bad about feelin' glad!"

Said in a confused, emotional rush; Don had to think for a minute to figure out what the heck Raph was talking about.

"Don't worry, Raph," he finally said. "It will all work out somehow. Splinter told me to tell you you can come out of the room now."

Before his brother could respond, Don was out of the room and off to the dojo.

Splinter was still in the kitchen with Leonardo, helping put away the supplies, yet he knew exactly the moment Donatello had put his hand on the door knob.

"Come in here, Donatello," he said sharply, and Donnie gulped in surprise. How does Sensei DO that? He was sure he couldn't see him, and he was sure that he'd not made a sound!

Obediently he entered the kitchen and silently went to work putting the supplies away.

Raph joined them, but there was little more to do. Splinter put a saucepan on the stove, carefully measured out the right amount of milk, and began the preparations to make some cocoa. He had been able to spare some of his precious money on marshmallows-- normally the cocoa was the treat, but the guys were excited by the appearance of the little fluffy white candies that floated so cheerily in the hot mixture, slowly melting its delicious flavor into the already tasty rich creaminess of the chocolate.

When it was prepared, the three turtles seated at the table with their steaming hot mugs of heaven and a generous plate of cookies in front of them, Splinter went to the dojo, where he found Michelangelo pretty much sitting the way Leonardo had seen him earlier.

He didn't look up when the door opened, though he was sure that Splinter was home.

"Come to the kitchen for a snack," he said.

Mikey slowly uncurled his legs and got off the chair. He didn't walk quickly, but he didn't drag his feet either. He knew he had deserved his punishment-- he knew that he deserved no Santa visit. He had been comforting himself with the knowledge that at least Splinter would have a present-- but what about his brothers? It had finally dawned on him that **his** behavior had ruined the presents for the others.

So it was no surprise to him that he not only couldn't meet his father's gaze, but he also avoided the looks of his brothers as he took his place at the table.

There was silence for a few minutes, as the five of them drank their cocoa and ate cookies. Donnie, usually the most quiet, felt the lack of conversation the most.

"Guess what I saw?" he said, startling the silence with the sound of his voice.

The others (except Mikey) looked at him.

"Come on, guess," Don said, smiling at them all. "I'll give you a hint: it's bigger than the toaster." He gave Raph and Leo pleading looks.

"Um," Leo said, thinking hard. "A car?"

Raph snorted into his cocoa.

"That would be hard NOT to see," he laughed. Then he thought for a minute. "Was it in the sewer, outside the sewer, or in the store?"

"Outside the sewer on the way to the store," Don said.

"Hmmm... Christmas lights?"

"Well, yeah, but that is not what I'm thinking of," Don replied, grabbing another cookie and trying to ignore the look on Mikey's face. He had thought this would help-- for a smart turtle he had not remembered that going to the store might be a sore subject. "Maybe I should say, guess WHO I saw?"

Now Leo and Raph really did look interested. There were really no "Who"s in their lives-- unless he meant--

"You saw Mr. and Mrs. Sakai?" Leo asked, excited. Ever since he'd been allowed to go to this store, after Splinter's illness, he'd had a desire to know what these two humans looked like. There were no pictures in the store. All he knew was that they were Japanese. That was hardly a good description.

"Nope!" Donnie grinned. "But it's someone we've seen on the TV."

"Spiderman?" Raph asked.

"Bugs Bunny?" Leo responded.

"The channel seven weather girl?" Raph eagerly grinned.

"No, no and no," Don said, taking a breath-- and a risk! "I saw SANTA CLAUS!"

Now Mikey's head snapped up, now his eyes glued themselves on Don. His look was hard to describe; hard to interpret. Don couldn't tell if the look his brother was giving him was one of simple surprise or secret resentment. He glanced at Splinter, who nodded in encouragement at his telling the story.

"It wasn't the real Santa Claus, though. It was a fireman dressed up like Santa. He was sitting on this fire truck that was parked outside an apartment building, and the firemen was carrying presents and bags of groceries into the building, then they'd come out without them. Father said that they was delivering special gifts to people who needed extra help this time of year..."

__

"Wow! So they know who needs help? How can they know that?" Donatello, well bundled up, had asked.

"They just know," Splinter had replied. "They are out late tonight. There must be a lot of people in need this year. Usually they are done by this time. I have seen them do this over the years."

Donatello had been very impressed. Despite the lateness of the hour, many children, equally as bundled up as Don, though not for the exact same reasons, were standing around "Santa", who was giving out treats to them.

"Would you like to go forward and get some of the treats?" Splinter had asked, and Don had nearly said no-- but his curiosity got the better of him-- after all, he was well-covered. It was kind of like at Halloween. No one should notice. So, he had mingled in with the other kids, slowly moving forward, fear growing-- yet knowing that his father was watching and would not let anything happen to him-- until he was right up close to this "Santa".

Of course, he could see that the beard was fake, and he could see, even in the dim lights of the street lamp and the flashing lights of the fire truck, that some black hair was sticking out a bit from under a white wig. But at the same time, it had been so-- magical.

Numbly he held out his mittened hand, like the other kids, and was surprised when this "Santa" , with a "Merry Christmas!", handed him several candy canes!

Mumbling "Thank you!", he quickly made his way back to Splinter, clutching this unexpected treat.

"I will give them to Mikey," he had told Splinter as they made their stealthy way to the darker part of the neighborhood, and to the back entrance of the closed for the evening grocery run by the Sakais. "It will cheer him up!"

"I believe you had better share them out equally," Splinter had suggested. "I see he gave you four."

And Donnie, still excited by the experience, suddenly paused.

"That's strange, Sensei! He only gave the other kids one, maybe two-- I remember seeing that-- but he gave ME four-- like he knew I had brothers or something! How is that possible?"

"I am sure I do not know, but it was very lucky, was it not? Now, let us get to work. We are here earlier than I like, and we must take extra care!"

"Anyway, he gave me four candy canes! The other kids only got one or two maybe, but for some reason I got four! Isn't that lucky?"

Raph's look was a mixture of awe and fear. Leo also was not sure what to think.

Hesitantly, Don looked towards Mikey. He had hoped that perhaps this bit of "news" would cheer up his brother.

He hoped in vain. Though Mikey did his best to smile at this good news, Don could tell that this was almost like salt in a wound. If Mikey had not been in trouble, HE would have been the one to see "Santa"-- even if it wasn't the real one. He would have had a chance to bring home the candy canes for his brothers, who were now rather excited as Don, with Splinter's permission, retrieved the candies from where Splinter had allowed him to hide them, placing on the table four nicely shaped and unbroken candy canes.

Mikey took his with a polite "thank-you", but he did not eat it. Instead, he asked to be excused, then went into the living room and hung his candy cane on the tree, as he had seen in countless shows and books.

Then he went to bed and cried himself to sleep.

In the kitchen, Donatello sat dejectedly, as Splinter cleared away the cups and plate from their snack. Leo and Raph were in the other room, watching a bit of TV and tasting their candy canes though it was so close to bedtime. Splinter quietly continued cleaning up, waiting for Donatello to speak. He knew that Donatello had taken a chance in his attempt to cheer up his brother. He knew that Donatello had been aware of the possible outcome. They had discussed it on the way home, and Splinter had left it up to his son to decide.

"I guess I did a bad thing," he finally sighed.

"No, my son. You told the truth. You could not have said that they were bought, nor could you say that you stole them or found them. They were given to you by the fireman dressed as Santa."

Splinter finished putting the cups away, and he sat down next to Donatello.

"It is not easy to tell the truth," he said. "And it is not easy to listen to the truth. Michelangelo is upset, but he also understands the circumstances."

"I-- I don't want him to hate me," Don said simply. He, too, had a vivid picture in his mind of Mikey's shouted words at his less-than-enthusiastic brothers. They had all known what this meant to Mikey, and yet they had treated it with either fear or (in Don's case) indifference. None of them seemed to share his excitement, and he probably felt it.

"He may be upset, but he will never hate you," Splinter leaned over and gave Donatello a hug.

"He thinks that Santa can't come now 'cause of what he did," Don told him. "I guess he told Leo and Leo told Raph. What are you gonna do about the presents-- that is, if Mr. Sakai can get any for you?"

Splinter smiled.

"Do not worry, Donatello," he said, unknowingly repeating to him what Don had said to Raphael earlier. "It will all work out."

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Wrapped in a blanket, wearing socks and warm pajamas, Mikey sat on the couch around two in the morning, staring at some all-night movie channel that was showing some Christmas movie. He wasn't really watching it, it was just background noise to his misery.

Donnie had managed to deliver the letter to Mrs. Sakai. But he had also seen Santa.

It didn't matter to Mikey that it had not been the real Santa. His getting angry at Raph had cost him big time! The spanking, the double grounding, even the trip to the store he could accept. But for Donnie to actually get to see someone dressed up like that, to see firemen delivering Christmas gifts and food to people, to actually stand in a crowd of HUMAN KIDS and hold out his hand and be GIVEN not one but FOUR beautiful candy canes! Well, it was just more than the little turtle could bear!

"Stupid Raph," he muttered, sulking; then he shook his head, and sighed. "No. Stupid ME! Stupid stupid Michelangelo! I am the stupidest turtle in the entire whole world!"

"No, you are not," a fatherly voice interrupted firmly. "None of my sons are stupid. You know how I feel about that word. Why are you out of bed, my son?"

Mikey sighed. He should have known that Splinter would know someone was up. Even though the sound was down, his father could hear anything going on in the lair, it seemed. He was almost like Santa in that respect: sees you when you're sleeping, knows when you're awake.

"I couldn't sleep. I was cold. Raph snores. Leo shakes the bed. I had to go to the bathroom. I needed a drink of water. I had a nightmare. I thought I heard a maintenance worker."

He tried all the lame excuses he could muster, but he refused to name the one excuse that was the true one-- he was sad because Santa would not be coming.

Splinter leaned over the couch, found the remote, and shut off the TV.

"Come with me, Michelangelo," he said, and Mikey trailed after his father in the dark-- but instead of going to his room, they went to Splinter's. Obediently he followed Splinter over to the old rocking chair, and Splinter was hardly seated before Michelangelo, without thinking, without invitation, launched himself into that familiar lap and cuddled up as tightly as he could, pouring out his sorrow over the events of the day and his apologies and his heartbreak.

Splinter was taken aback by the depth of his son's grief. That he had been excited beyond Splinter's imagination over this mythical visitor was surprising enough-- that he so believed in the "rules" as he kept calling them left Splinter momentarily speechless.

Finally, Michelangelo's laments died down to quiet crying, and Splinter, smothered in blanket-covered turtle, simply kept rocking, gathering his thoughts even as he made comforting father sounds.

"Michelangelo," he finally said. "Do you know that in Japanese, Santa Claus's name is '_Hoteiosha_'?"

Mikey, sniffling, moved his head from its place on Splinter's chest and gazed upwards at his father, curious at this revelation.

" '_Hoteiosha_'?" he repeated. "Really? I thought he was just Santa Claus. How do you know? Did he visit you when you lived in Japan?"

"No. I read about it in one of Donatello's books," he smiled. "For many people, Christmas is a religious holiday-- a Christian religious holiday. Very few people in Japan are Christian, but they like the holiday symbols and they like giving gifts to each other. In Japan, according to the book, _Hoteiosha_ is a priest-- not Santa as in the books and movies and shows you have seen. But in a way he acts like Santa. He comes to the childrens' houses, bringing presents. They say he has eyes in the back of his head, so all the children try to behave themselves, in case he is nearby."

Michelangelo was puzzled-- and intrigued. Santa wasn't the same all over? But what does this have to do with what he did today?

"And," Splinter continued, hugging his son, "for those Christians in Japan, it is not even a day for family like here. On Christmas Day, they spend the entire day doing nice things for others, especially people who are sick or in the hospital-- that is the place that truly ill humans go when their families cannot care for them."

Mikey thought about this. Why was Splinter telling him this? Was he trying to say--

"Do you mean there is no Santa Claus?"

Splinter started. That was NOT what he had meant at all.

"No, my son! No, not at all! I-- I just found it interesting how different cultures believe in the same thing-- only in different ways. You believe that Santa will not come visit you because you attacked your brother today, yes?"

"Well, yes," Mikey nodded. "He doesn't come to the bad kids."

"Are you bad all the time?"

"No, but--" Mikey was a bit confused. He had been so very bad to his brother-- how did it matter if it wasn't all year long. Did that mean you could be bad sometimes? Was there such things as "freebee bad times"?

"My son, you are not bad. None of you are 'bad'," Splinter said, snuggling this poor confused turtle. "Sometimes people use the word 'bad' in the wrong way, or as a general description. You can have a bad day, or a bad piece of fruit, or bad luck. You can act 'bad', but not be 'bad'. I think that what those stories and songs and legends are trying to do is encourage children to do their best, and not do mean things, or be disrespectful to their parents, or to act dishonorably. I think that only truly 'bad' people do not regret or feel sorry for their actions. Do you regret what you did to Raphael earlier?"

"Yes! Yes I do," Michelangelo replied sincerely.

"But do you regret it because you missed out on what Donatello experienced, or because you truly are sorry that you hurt your brother-- not matter how much he had 'hurt' you by teasing you about your letter to Santa?"

Mike thought about this... and for a minute missed the meaning of the last few of Splinter's words. Then they hit him like a ton of bricks: He doesn't know that the letter was to Mrs. Sakai!

"I was mad at Raph, but yes-- I truly am sorry I hurt him! I didn't mean to split his lip and make him bleed! Really, Father! I really am sorry," and he almost started crying at the memory of the blood pouring from his brother's lip. "But will they still get presents, or will they lose out 'cause of me? What if Santa thinks what I did is too bad, even though I'm sorry, and he don't bring presents for them? That would be horrible! It would be all my fault!"

"Oh, my son, you must not worry about whether Santa will come this year or not!" Splinter said, stroking his face and wiping his tears away. "I know that you are sincere. And I am positive that Santa knows this as well! I am sure that your brothers will not suffer because of your actions."

Mikey, snug in the indescribable comfort of his father's strong and caring arms, thought about what Splinter had said. Perhaps Santa might still come-- if only to bring his brothers their presents. Perhaps he **hadn't **ruined Christmas for them, after all.

Once again, from a distance in his imagination, he could see Santa, winking at him again... was this his second "gift" from Santa? First, the chance that Splinter would really have a present, and now that his brothers would receive gifts as well?

He thought once again about what Donnie had done-- as well as seen.

"Well, I sure hope that if he does come, he brings Donnie the bestest of the presents," he said sincerely, finally coming to grips with the entire situation. "I don't know about some of what you said, but it sounds like Donnie is like those people you talked about, those ones that spend Christmas day doing nice things for other people."

He didn't go into detail, but to his mind, Donnie had done a lot of nice things for Mikey these past few days in general and today-- or rather, yesterday-- in particular.

He sleepily hoped that Don got the biggest and bestest present ever given-- Don deserved it!


	6. Chapter 6

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I am so thankful for your kind words and reviews. I am so happy, that I am not going to even debate anyone regarding my position on Christmas. If that costs me readers, so be it. I do see that, despite decorations and other things, there is still a move to eliminate "Christmas"-- I had to look hard to find my Christmas Cards that actually say "Merry Christmas"-- I can find "Happy Chanukah" Cards, btw-- no "Happy Holidays" in that section, believe you me!

Oh, yeah, and as far as my research leads, Rudolph is in public domain!

TMNT is the property of Mirage, who back in the day did a Mikey one-shot about Christmas!

**Chapter Six:...(is) Coming...**

"An electric shaver?" Mr. Sakai said, surprised. "Why on earth would his sons think..."

"Hush! Just because you do not like the one our beautiful grandchildren presented you with last year..."

"I do not need one! I have never needed to shave very often! It was a waste of their money," Mr. Sakai defended, peeved. "Besides, had I not hinted for over a month or more that my fishing gear was old and how much I had admired that one rod and set up in the catalogue? Why bother asking Sofu **what** he most wants for Christmas if they have no plans to **get** Sofu what he most wants for Christmas?"

He grumbled on like this for more then a few minutes, but Mrs. Sakai had tuned him out as usual. She was thinking hard. The shaver that the grandchildren had proudly presented to their grandfather was unopened. They, too, had seen that commercial, and even though it was an old "ad", they had searched long to find one much like it. She would give them that for their father, and use their money for some other special treats to surprise them-- especially this one called "Donatello".

"It is so sad that he is so young, yet he writes his beliefs as if he is much older," she mused to herself. "Such a shame! And see how he cares for his brother, who so believes in Santa Claus! Yes, young Donatello needs a little Christmas magic in his life."

She took Mr. Hamato's letter and money from her still grousing husband and began to plan. "Nothing elaborate" he had written:

_"Please, nothing elaborate. I cannot afford such things, and I do not wish them to come to expect such things. I have always tried to keep them from the greed that I see in others in this world, but at the same time, I feel that perhaps I have been overprotective in that respect. I want them to have nice things. I do not wish to deny them. Raphael is fond of cars and motorcycles and such. Leonardo is a great reader, but also enjoys all sorts of games that he can play with his brothers. Donatello is quite the 'inventor' and mechanical genus (if I may brag). I do not know if that will help you. Are there such toys for someone with his interests? As for Michelangelo, well, he is such a happy, cheerful child that anything pleases him, anything at all-- but he is very fond of coloring and painting and other artistic activities. I would be grateful if you could find anything that would meet these descriptions and the amount of money I have left you-- but please, nothing elaborate!"_

Nothing elaborate indeed-- let him argue with her! For the few years they had "known" him he had steadfastly refused any but the most basic help and gifts from them. But this year would be different! She would put his money to good use and then some. His boys would have the best Christmas presents she could find on such short notice, and if she had to dip into her special "go to Atlantic City" money to help do this, she would!

"I must bake some pies for young Michelangelo," she said, ignoring her husband, who was still lamenting the condition of his current fishing gear-- for he had stubbornly refused to go buy what he wanted for himself-- after all, it was a matter of principle! "And then I must go shopping!"

Mr. Sakai, still fuming about his fishing gear, paid very little attention, as he went about his daily business of running the store. But later, from the kitchen upstairs where the appetizing smell of pumpkin pie was wafting down, he could hear his wife singing:

"**Makka na ohana no tonakai-san wa**

**Itsumo minna no waraimono**

**Demo sono toshi no kurisumasu no hi**

**Santa no ojisan wa iimashita**

**Kurai yomichi wa pika pika no**

**Omae no hana ga yaku ni tatsu no sa**

**Itsumo naiteta tonakai-san wa**

**Koyoi koso wa to yorokobimashita"**

**((A/N-- "Rudolph, the Red-Nose Reindeer"!))**

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There were only a few more days until Christmas.

Around the lair, the turtles did their chores, did their katas, did their training, did their lessons. In their free time, they played and joked and fought and read and watched TV.

But everyone seemed to notice that Michelangelo, though not as upset as he had been, also didn't seem as **enthusiastic** has he had before the terrible fight.

He watched the shows, usually by himself-- unless Donatello, feeling guilty, would join him for an hour or two of yet another Christmas special where the brainy turtle tried once again to figure out how they could animate such things without computers.

Once in a while, if Santa was not a major theme, Raph or Leo would join him for some TV time-- but there was hardly the old "conversations" that had taken place before Michelangelo had ruined his chance for Santa to visit. No incessant chatter about Santa and all the things he knew; no plans to stay up late and try to SEE Santa; no nagging of Splinter to make sure that they saved some cookies for Santa's snack!

As the day drew nearer, three turtles grew more apprehensive. Leo and Raph, despite Splinter's reassurances and talks and comfort and special trips topside to witness the harmlessness, still had a vague yet persistent fear that this HUMAN would come into their home-- something that they'd been taught to fear for their entire lives!

Donatello finally asked Splinter why he didn't just tell them that Santa wasn't real. Splinter's answer still had the young turtle puzzled.

"I do not wish for Michelangelo to be made any more unhappy than he already is."

Michelangelo also was apprehensive-- despite Splinter's reassurances and talks and comfort and special stories read to him from Donatello's many books on the topic, he still had a vague yet persistent fear that SANTA would NOT come into their home, and the others would not get any presents and it would be all his fault.

"Mikey, if Splinter says it will be okay, it will be okay," Don tried to comfort him during one TV show when they were alone, and something in the show had started Mikey crying.

Mikey responded by forcing himself to quit crying and to hug his older brother quickly and fiercely before Raph and Leo could find out that he had done so. He did not want them to think him weak and babyish.

**Christmas Eve**

Splinter noticed the fear at supper. He had done all he could, and now he was faced with a dilemma. If he told them all the truth, then Michelangelo would not only be disillusioned, he would feel like he was a fool for having believed in such a person.

If he only told Leo and Raph, chances are one or both of them would be quick to mention it to Michelangelo, and he did not want his son to hear it like that.

He sighed, and wondered if other parents had such worries.

Donatello was the only one who did not seem upset or disturbed or uneasy in the least.

"I must go out," he finally said, and Leo and Raph, already nervous, looked very startled. "I will not be gone as long as I usually am. Also, I will be going alone. Leonardo, you will be in charge. Do not leave the lair, and do not fight. I will only be gone for approximately two hours. I expect you all to be bathed and ready for bed in that short time. Do I make myself clear?"

His usual speech when he was going out unexpectedly.

All four nodded.

"You do not need to be in bed. But I do want you ready. Raphael, I am serious about your dressing in the pajamas tonight. The weather is very cold-- even I can feel it at night, and we do not have enough blankets to stand against this winter."

"Aww, man... I HATE--" Raph started to complain, but Splinter cut him off.

"I understand that you do not like to wear such confining things. Perhaps I should find you a night shirt of some kind, similar to what I wear..."

"NO! No, Father! The p.j.s are fine!" Raph, desperate NOT to dress in a "nightgown" like a girl, quickly assured Splinter. Splinter, smiling to himself, once again won the argument. Besides, he had noticed that Raphael, though he would go to bed sometimes as Nature had made him, would wake up wearing the hated pajamas after shivering for several hours.

So, Splinter made his way quickly to the closed store, while his sons bathed two at a time and got dressed for bed and sat huddled on the couch watching yet another Christmas show.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the dark, deserted store, Splinter easily found the gifts and small supplies that he had requested-- and stood in shock at the size of the packages. He shook his head, knowing that his meager amount of money had not purchased all of this.

An envelope labeled "Do not open until Christmas" was on top, along with a small, festively wrapped package and a note.

__

"Dear Mr. Hamato,

Merry Christmas to you and your dear children. This small surprise was requested by two of your sons. You must not know about it, but you must find a way for them to retrieve it so they may hide it on their own. Remember, it is a surprise! No peeking!

I have also baked two pies for your family. Thank-you for putting your trust in us. I wish you and your boys a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I pray that perhaps things will be better, and you will no longer have to live in hiding. I also pray that you all remain in good health.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Sakai"

Hmmm... it seems that Donatello is behind this... he must have left a note that night...

Suddenly it dawned on him: the note that Michelangelo had been writing! It had been his turn to go; he must have been planning something. Raphael had assumed the note was to Santa, when it had been something else, something Michelangelo tried desperately to keep secret.

Looking again at the packages, he smiled. Perhaps, in a way, the note HAD been to "Santa"... it certainly looked to Splinter that at the very least, Santa's wife had been the one to organize this.

He managed to add a quick and heartfelt "thank-you" to the note he had already written, and, loaded down with his bag of Christmas cheer, left quickly and quietly for home.

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Leo and Raph, while in the tub, came up with a plan.

"We wait up, and we make sure he doesn't try to grab anyone," Leo said, the idea suddenly popping into his head in answer to Raph's "What do we do?"

"Yes! We can hide in the dojo!" Raph was all excited, picturing himself and Leo waiting with weapons ready as this sinister human snuck into their room and grabbed their helpless little brothers. In his mind's eye, he and Leo would jump out, heroically saving the two younger ones! Splinter would be so proud, and even (perhaps) apologize to them for ever trusting this red-suited fiend!

Leo, imagining how Splinter would praise them for being so aware of this monster's true motives, would tell him and Raph that they had already reached such a level in their training that they would not need to have lessons with their younger brothers. _"You two will begin advanced lessons, and later you may help me teach Donatello and Michelangelo on a daily basis!"_

"We can sneak out of bed around midnight," Leo nodded. "The others will be asleep, and I'm sure he won't come that soon. Father sometimes sits up that late, reading. He would wait until everyone was asleep! We'll sneak out then!"

"Right! We'll make sure no one messes with this family!" Raph, eager for the imagined fight, splashed his fist in the water for emphasis.

Later, Donatello and Michelangelo, in the bath, talked about the night as well.

"So, how do we watch for Santa without Father finding out?" Don asked his little brother out of the blue.

Mikey looked at Don, startled for a moment. Then he sighed.

"What's the use, Don? I-- I know Father keeps saying that Santa will come, and I hope he does so you guys can get your presents," he finally sighed. "But I-- I-- oh, Don, what if he doesn't come? What will you guys do for presents?"

Don sighed, tired of his brother's moping.

"Listen here, Michelangelo!" he found himself saying rather sharply. In his mind, he was going to put an end to this by exposing this mythical being as a figment of parental imagination. "If Splinter says don't worry, then DON'T WORRY!"

Don probably looked more surprised than his brother. He didn't know where that came from... but now that he'd said it...

"Look, are we gonna wait up for Santa or not? 'Cause we need a plan to get past Father!" Don said forcefully. "We gotta get past him AND Leo and Raph, 'cause you KNOW they're probably gonna want to try to stay up and CHASE Santa away! They're still scared-- the big babies!"

Mikey looked at this normally quiet, normally in control older brother, and marveled. He didn't ever remember seeing Donnie like this!

It was neat!

For the first time since the fight, Mikey allowed himself to BELIEVE!

__

I mean, after all-- if DONNIE thinks we should do such a thing, then **surely** it must be true! He IS the smartest of us all, anyway!

Mikey looked with renewed hope at his brother.

"So-- how do we get past Splinter?" he asked Donatello.

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Splinter managed to store his extremely large bag of supplies just outside the lair, and yet have enough to bring in to fool his sons.

True to his directions, they were all four seated on the couch, dressed for bed. They all looked relieved to see their father walk through the door, and made to help as usual to put away the supplies-- but he waved them back, except for Donatello and Michelangelo.

"I do not need all of you," he said, as they followed him into the kitchen and helped begin putting away the few things that he had.

Splinter had carefully placed the small package where either of them could find it without his noticing. He went about putting away the pies and the other "staples", and ignored the sudden gasps, followed by the faint rustling of the bag as the "surprise" was carefully removed and carefully shoved under someone's pajama top.

"Uh, I gotta go to the bathroom," Michelangelo said, and quickly left, followed just as quickly by Donatello.

Inside their bedroom they marveled at the beautifully wrapped gift-- a label had been attached as well as a small note:

_"Dear Donatello and Michelangelo,_

Here is what you requested! I hope your father enjoys his surprise. You are both good sons to do such a thing. Your father is truly blessed to have such boys!

I wrapped it myself to save you the trouble. All you need to do is address the label.

Merry Christmas!

Sincerely,

Mrs. Sakai

P.S. Thank you, Michelangelo, for your kind comments about my pies.

"Wow!" Mikey's eyes were shining with such joy as Donnie hadn't seen in the past few weeks. As he carefully wrote his name on the label, he couldn't quit grinning-- this **really was** gonna be a great Christmas surprise for Splinter!

He shoved the pen and present at Don.

"You gotta sign it, Don! We both got it for him!"

Don hid his smile-- for a few minutes, and then he, too, couldn't quit grinning.

"Should we put Raph's and Leo's names as well?" he asked, but Mikey fiercely shook his head no.

"Why should we?" was all he said, and Don agreed.

They hid the gift for putting out later, and rejoined their brothers on the couch.

In no time Splinter joined them as well, and to their utter surprise and joy he cuddled them all as usual. It was funny; he would do this often, and yet it always seemed like something special and wonderful!

"Well, my sons," he smiled after generously sharing out the hugs and cuddles and tickles and such. "Shall we put out the cookies and milk for Santa?"

Suddenly two sons tensed up, while two sons (one more than the other) grew a bit more excited.

"Yes, Father! I've already put out the plate and glass in the kitchen. All we need to do is add the cookies and milk!" Don exclaimed, and Mikey was affirming this action most assuredly.

Splinter laughed at this son's pronouncement, and he had them all follow him into the kitchen where he made a big show of pouring out a glass of tasty milk, and set out four cookies-- one for each of them.

"Now, let us have a special bedtime story, and then we must hang up your stockings-- and then off to bed!"

Four voices agreed-- and two sets of brothers began the countdown when they would put their plans into motion!


	7. Chapter 7

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Well, it's almost down to the wire! I went into a local place yesterday, and the manager had notes around the office stating that they'd be closed on the 26th of Dec. and the 2nd of Jan. Then at the bottom, in big, bright, proud letters "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year"! When I said how glad I was to see that (pointing to the words MERRY CHRISTMAS) the manager smiled and said "Thank you!"

I do not own TMNT, and I doubt any amount of milk and cookies I may leave out for Santa will change that fact...

**Chapter 7:...is (still) Coming...**

_"Now, let us have a special bedtime story, and then we must hang up your stockings-- and then off to bed!"_

Four voices agreed-- and two sets of brothers began the countdown when they would put their plans into motion!

"Bedtime, my sons. Time to punch the bag," Splinter said, as the last stocking was hung up.

All four turtles laughed at their father's misuse of the expression.

"It's 'hit the sack', Father," Raph laughed the loudest. Splinter merely shook his head.

"Are you sure?" he asked in mock concern; he knew what the true expression was; it was a favorite little game of his to suddenly surprise them with such verbal "mistakes". He had found it a great little teaching tool to help them remember lessons. "I could have sworn it was the other way. Well, no matter! Time for bed!"

Cheerfully he herded the four boys before him, and each willingly climbed into bed and awaited their tucking in and good nights. The sooner Splinter believed them asleep, the sooner they could put their plans in motion.

While Splinter dealt with a last-minute request for water and a trip to the bathroom from Michelangelo (as usual), Raph managed to make contact with Leo without Don noticing.

"What if we fall asleep before midnight?" he whispered, sensing a flaw in their otherwise perfect plan-- after all, there were three hours before they could safely assume Splinter was in bed.

For an answer, Leo showed him the little alarm clock he had hidden under his pillow.

"This'll wake me up," he mouthed back. "Then I'll wake you up!"

Raph, nodding, gave Leo a "thumbs up" signal-- and then Splinter was back with Michelangelo who had had his final drink (and hopefully bathroom trip) of the night.

As he tucked in Leonardo, wishing him a personal good night, Donnie waved at Mikey to get his attention. When the youngest looked over, Don, noting carefully what Splinter was doing, slyly held up a digital watch, and made sure that Mikey saw him sliding it under his pillow. Don had set it to go off around eleven o'clock-- he was sure that the other two would be asleep by then, and he and Mikey would have no trouble sneaking into the living room. Splinter usually sat up reading in his room until around midnight, but Don was confident that two well-trained ninja could manage to get to the couch undisturbed!

Mikey, as Splinter tucked in Raphael and gave him his personal good night, made an "okay" sign with his fingers, and then snuggled down in the bed, waiting his turn.

Now Splinter was tucking in Donatello.

"Good night my son," he whispered. "And thank you for what you have done for your brother."

Don looked a bit taken aback at this pronouncement; had Splinter overheard them?

"I can see that he is in a better frame of mind, and I am sure you had a lot to do with it," he continued with a smile. "Thank you."

Don suddenly smiled, and accepted his hug and kiss with more than his usual enthusiasm. He was so glad that Mikey had came up with the idea of giving Splinter a present for Christmas-- though he still felt that an electric shaver was not a good gift for the rat.

At Michelangelo's bed, he took an extra moment to speak to him.

"Are you still worried, my son?" was all he asked.

"Nope," Mikey replied, grinning. "I know I won't get anything for myself, but I'm sure that Santa will come and bring the others presents, and that's good enough for me!"

Splinter did not push the subject further. He simply finished his nighttime ritual, and then, with a final "Good night, my sons," he turned off the light, and the room was plunged into darkness that was only relieved by the faint night light.

No one spoke. For once, no one spoke. Four turtles, in teams of two, had ulterior motives and feared giving them away.

One by one, though they swore to themselves they were too excited or nervous to sleep, they dropped off, and for a time there was nothing stirring in the room except the soft sounds of four peacefully sleeping turtles.

In the living room, Splinter retrieved the gifts he had hidden just outside the door, but he did not place them out just yet. If he knew his sons, at least one would be up in a little while to "wait for Santa". Carefully hiding them in the last place they would look (the small "closet" in the kitchen where the cleaning supplies were kept), he fixed himself a pot of tea and prepared to go to bed. He would sit up for a bit, then sleep. He would make sure to get up around three or so and place out the presents.

Since they knew it was he who filled the stockings, he went ahead and made the usual deposit of apples, oranges, nuts, candies and a small gift-- this year little puzzles. No more noise makers-- he had vowed that after the first time, when Michelangelo "serenaded" them for about two hours on the little plastic horn that soon disappeared. In all his years of cleaning, he never did find out which of the others had hidden it, and frankly, remembering the noise, he was not to eager to discover who had done so.

He pondered the letter that was marked "Do not open until Christmas!", and then carefully set it on the table in the kitchen. He would read it tomorrow at breakfast. It was very thick, and though he was curious as to its contents, he would wait.

He carried his pot of fragrant, hot tea on a tray to his room, then dressed for bed. Lighting several candles, he made himself comfortable, picked up his book, and began another chapter, one ear tuned towards his sons room, waiting for the inevitable stealthy creak of the door indicating that someone was on his way to wait up for Santa.

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**beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep...**

Donnie, in the midst of a deep and beautifully peaceful slumber, kept hearing a weird noise in his left ear. It was drilling a hole into his rest, pushing its way rudely into his comfortable sleep, insisting that it must not be ignored.

Eyes popped open in surprise! Then, as he fully woke up, he realized that the little timer on the digital watch was the culprit. Looking quickly at its luminous face, he could see that it had been beeping for at least fifteen minutes!

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Man! What if we already missed him? Donnie worried, quickly but carefully climbing out of his toasty warm bed into the chill of the room and making his way as quietly as possible up the ladder to Mikey's bed.

Then it dawned on Don what he had just thought. He shook his head, laughing at himself. _Mikey had **me** believing for a moment!_ he smiled, as he went about the delicate task of waking one brother without disturbing the other two.

"Mikey," he whispered as loudly as he dared, shaking his little brother. He was answered with a protesting whimper. Don froze for a moment; no noise from the other two. Cautiously, he put one hand on Mikey's mouth. "Mikey! Let's go! Don't you wanna wait up for Santa?"

At those words, Mikey came fully awake-- Christmas! Santa Claus!

Without a sound, the two of them climbed down, Mikey bringing his blanket with him so they'd be warm on the couch.

The door, no matter how slowly they moved it open, still managed to make a sound, and their hearts flew into their throats! They froze, one concentrating on whether the brothers had heard, the other watching the door of Splinter. There was the faint flickering suggestion coming from under the door that Father was still up, reading. But no other sound reached them from that room.

Both turtles breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Rather than risking the door's noise by closing it, they left it ajar, and slipped into the living room as if stalking an enemy.

Splinter had installed a few night lights around the lair for safety reasons. Candles used to be the norm, but ever since Michelangelo set a blanket on fire playing with the friendly light, he had had to come up with some other way for wandering children to find their way around the pitch blackness without fear of injury. Flashlights were for important things-- batteries could not be wasted on foolish boys who felt like getting out of bed. After seeing how much the small night light he had put into their bedroom helped, he had found or bought a few more-- bathroom, living room and kitchen.

It was by the soft, faint glow of the living room one that accustomed turtle eyes could see that no one had been there yet!

Mikey felt a thrill that he could not name! He tried and tried to remember feeling like this before, but the closest he came to it was a naughty memory.

"Remember that time that Raph was grounded?" he whispered to Don as they tucked themselves in on the couch with Mikey's blanket, and huddled together to get back some of the warmth they'd lost on their way to the living room.

"Which time?" Don grinned back. "Raph is **always** grounded."

That was true.

"The time I played this joke on him," Mikey laughed.

"Which time? You're **always** playing jokes on him when he's grounded."

That was true as well.

"It was the time when he couldn't get out of the bed for two hours, even for the bathroom, and I kept bringing him drinks of water and milk, and he really had to pee! And just as Splinter told him he could get up, he ran for the bathroom-- and I was in there with the door locked, taking a bath! He was banging on the door and hollering, and I was sitting in the tub, just waiting for the right moment--"

Mikey's voice had started to get louder with the telling of this tale, and Don had to warn him to "shush" when he thought he'd heard a noise from their father's room. Both froze for a moment; silence answered them, and they relaxed.

"Anyway, just as I heard Splinter unlocking the door-- how does he do that, anyway? I thought you could only lock and unlock it from inside?"

"Duh, he's a ninja!"

"Oh, yeah-- I forgot-- anyways, just as the door started to open, I turned on all the faucets so Raph could hear the water running, and he ran as fast as he could, but peed himself before he could make it to the toilet!" And Mikey stuffed a corner of the blanket into his mouth to smother his happy laughter.

Don looked at his little brother with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Why would you want to remind me of a time when you were bad? Didn't you tell me that Santa doesn't come visit the bad kids?"

Mikey shrugged.

"I'm already not gonna get a present, and 'sides that happened last year before Splinter said that Santa could come this year. Anyways, it was an exciting feeling, and yet it doesn't feel like how I'm feeling now! I hope we see him, Don! I wanna at least thank him for coming to bring you guys presents! I sure thought--"

"Yeah, I know, forget it, Mikey," Don cut him off. "It's okay, and it'll be okay. Let's just try to not get caught by Splinter."

"Wish we could turn on the TV," Mikey said after a few minutes of silence. "I don't wanna fall asleep."

"Don't worry, Mikey. I'll wake you up if you're asleep."

Mikey beamed at his older brother in the dark, and snuggled the blanket around them both even tighter.

"You're the bestest brother in the whole entire world, Donatello! You're the bestest brother that I have!"

Don, taken aback by the sincerity in that statement, nevertheless felt very pleased.

"And you're the best little brother that I have," he responded, smiling to himself and wondering how long it would be before Mikey caught on.

And they happily snuggled under the blanket, every now and again whispering some joke or story or just wondering how long before Santa would arrive...

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"Raph... Raph! Wake up!"

"LemmealoneIdonwannawakeupzzzzzz..."

"Raph! We gotta go hide in the dojo! Santa Claus, remember?"

At the words "Santa Claus" Raph bolted upright, forcing himself to be awake. It was not a pleasant feeling; he had been all warm and comfortable and snug in dreamland, and now he was gonna have to get out of his nice bed and sit in a cold dojo, and for what? 'Cause his dumb little brother had to go and make Sensei tell Santa Claus where they lived!

The first thing they noticed was that the door was open; cold fear gripped them at the sight.

The second thing-- that their brothers were missing!

"Aww, man... I hope they're in the bathroom!" Leo worried. What if Santa had already snuck in here and swiped the two on top 'cause they were the easiest to carry?

No light came from under Splinter's door. Good. He must be asleep.

Carefully, nervously, the two determined brothers made their way into the living room. They both breathed a sigh of relief! On the couch were the two missing brothers, sound asleep under a blanket.

"We shouldda brought a blanket, too," Raph pointed out, shivering despite the warm pajamas. "Lets take theirs."

"No, that would wake them up, and Splinter would catch us," Leo admonished. "Go in the dojo, I'll go get our blankets. You want some socks, too?" He added this as he noticed that Raph was barefoot (as they all usually were), but he had also noticed how cold the floor was.

"Naw, I'm fine," Raph assured him through chattering teeth.

Leo came back with two blankets, the alarm clock and two pairs of socks. Raph, without a word, put on his pair, and had to admit that it made a difference.

Leo, shutting the door tight, risked switching on the light in the room. There, against the wall, was the weapons rack that held the practice bamboo swords and the wooden bokken. They were not to touch those things without Sensei's permission or supervision, but they were the only weapons in sight.

He looked a question at Raphael, who shrugged.

"At the most, we get grounded for a month," he told his older brother. "No spanking, but also no TV for a week as part of the grounding, and anywhere from two to three hours grounded to the dojo in the corner, no bathroom breaks."

Nodding at the expert advice of his brother, Leo fetched them each a bokken. Then, bundled up in the blankets, they positioned themselves by the door. Leo turned off the light, and Raph opened the door just enough so they could see their brothers sleeping on the couch.

"How do you think he'll get in here, Leo?"

"Probably the front door. We don't have a chimney or windows-- only way he can do it."

Raph thought about this.

"Unless he can somehow come through the pipes into the bathroom," he suggested.

Leo considered this, and frowned, annoyed at Raphael.

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Man, now I gotta use the bathroom, and I'm too nervous to go... what if he **can** come through the pipes, he thought angrily, visualizing being alone and in an embarrassing position while the evil Human leered at him, bag ready to scoop him up and take him away!

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought as well as to contradict his brother.

"Nope, front door."

Silence. Silence. More silence.

"I wonder how long we've been waiting," Raph sighed, thinking of bed.

Leo looked at the little alarm clock and sighed himself.

"Fifteen minutes," he whispered.

"Dang! This Santa should hurry up! I'm cold!"

"Maybe there is no Santa," Leo said hopefully. "Maybe there is no Santa like I saw someone saying on that movie.

"You mean the movie where they thought the old guy was crazy cause he said he was Santa?" Raph frowned, remembering it. "But at the end, it kinda said that he **was** Santa, on account of the little girl got her wish for the house, and his cane was sitting in the corner-- remember?"

Leo slumped. The he stiffened his resolution.

"If you wanna get some sleep, go ahead. I'll take the first watch!"

"Nope, I'll wait up with you! We'll both be wide awake for this Human!"

"Agreed!"

They fiercely watched out the door, keeping protective older brother eyes on the two younger ones.

Twenty minutes later, they were both asleep.

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Leo was dreaming of danger.

His brothers were alone and stranded on this strange hill. Towering over them was a Dark Shape in a robe. They were under some kind of spell; it was like they were asleep, yet trying to wake up, and all the time, the Dark Shape was whispering to them to get in the sack... get in the sack... get in...

"... the sack."

The words, a loud whisper, snapped Leo out of his sleep-- to find his worst nightmare coming true before his very eyes!

In the soft weak glow of the night light, a Dark Shape in a robe was leaning over Mikey and Don! It had its hands on his brothers, shaking them! It was whispering about a SACK!

Leo roughly grabbed Raph, shaking him awake while covering his mouth. Before the grumpy turtle could punch his older brother, he froze in horror: SANTA CLAUS!

Cold, biting cold fear gripped the two brothers as tightly as they gripped their bokken. For a moment neither could move! Both felt on the verge of tears-- both wanted to scream for Splinter!

And then Mikey whined piteously:

"But I don't wanna get in the sack!"

That did it!

With high-pitched six-year-old voices ringing out a battle cry, Leo and Raph, weapons raised, leaped out of the dojo, bravely charging the Dark Shape--

--and were met with the surprisingly painful and familiar sting of a tail being lashed sharply against their pajama clad legs, knocking them flat on their plastrons!

Stunned, they looked up as the living room light came on, and found themselves staring into the face of Splinter.

And he wasn't smiling!

"Uh..." Leo said.

"Sorr--ry?" Raph weakly smiled.

Splinter stared at these two, hands on hips, tail slowly moving back and forth.

"Yes, I believe you will both be more than sorry," he finally said, and Leo and Raph exchanged almost tearful glances. It appeared that, whatever else might come their way, **one **of their "Christmas presents" was going to be a spanking!


	8. Chapter 8

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This is almost becoming the Twelve Days of Christmas story-length/wise! Sorry about that! I just found that this part needed a lot of time devoted to it. Thank you for sticking with me throughout all the sentimental stuff!

"On the Fourth day of Christmas, Mir-aagge gave to me... FOUR Ninja Turtles"... yeah, right! NOT mine, never will be mine. OH, and Feliz Navidad!

**Chapter 8:...to TOWN!**

Splinter gazed sternly at the two on the floor, who stuttered and stammered and desperately tried to convey to Sensei that their intentions had NEVER been to attack HIM; they were just trying to protect their brothers from Santa! Yes, Sensei had said he was HARMLESS, but he was a HUMAN, and how did Sensei KNOW that he would be harmless-- NOT that Sensei was STUPID! NO, they would never think that, it's just that...

Splinter allowed them to continue for a few minutes before he put them out of their misery.

"All of you, please follow me to my room," was all he said, cutting off the continued justification.

Don and Mikey, now fully awake, followed with eyes wide for different reasons. Don could not believe that his brothers had actually attacked Master Splinter with bokken! What the heck was wrong with them? Had they lost their minds? All that talk of protecting him and Mikey from Santa-- sure, he knew they'd been scared from the moment Splinter had said that Santa may come, but he still found it amazing that Leo and Raph would go so far as to TOUCH the weapons without permission, must less ATTACK Master Splinter!

Mikey's eyes were wide with disappointment. Not only had he and Don fallen asleep, but his brothers had planned on attacking Santa! That they had attacked Master Splinter was shocking enough, but Mikey could not help feeling that his brothers had pretty much ruined any chance of Santa's showing up! He had noticed that there were no gifts under the tree-- had Santa heard the commotion, and taken off? Had he "seen" that Leo and Raph were planning on attacking him? Perhaps HE was the one to nudge Sensei awake, so that he would get up and discover two of his sons sleeping on the couch!

Leo and Raph, bringing up the rear, spared no words of blame on each other. They knew that it had been a fifty/fifty deal, and they were brave enough to face the music.

After a brief stop to pick up pillows, they entered Splinter's room, Leo and Raph holding **theirs **behind their backs, as if these items of comfort would be useful in protecting their tails from a Christmas spanking.

"Get into my bed, all of you," Splinter ordered, and four turtles, clutching pillows immediately obeyed. There was just enough room for them; Leo on the far end, then Raph, then Don, and Mikey last on the near end next to the night stand where Splinter's candles for reading had been relit when he had first awakened. Father would fit in if they squeezed in tight-- but Father just tucked them in, removing his own pillows to the floor for the moment. He lit a few more candles on his dresser, illuminating the room even more, and then turned back to them.

"I am going out to straighten up the dojo and make sure nothing else has been disturbed. Then I will come back in here, and we will all spend the night together. Perhaps if you sleep in my room, then you will not be in danger of kidnapping. No one-- NO ONE!-- is to leave that bed. I will be back in ten minutes!"

The door closed firmly, and four turtles, huddled in their father's bed, breathed various sighs of relief or disappointment.

"Man! You guys probably scared Santa away!" Mikey accused, torn between anger and sadness. How could his brothers keep working so hard to prevent what should be the happiest day of the year?

"Why did you guys attack Splinter?" Don asked, more calmly, as Mikey continued to fume about the wasted efforts of Don and himself to have a Merry Christmas.

"We didn't attack Splinter," Leo defended. "I mean, we didn't mean to attack Splinter. We thought..."

"We thought Santa was trying to snatch you both!" Raph jumped in. "And if he HAD been tryin' to snatch you, you'd of been glad to see us! Now we're getting blamed for scaring Santa and attacking Splinter..."

Don so wanted to tell the older two that Santa was not real, but Mikey, who had finally become happy again, was now on the verge of tears at the prospect of no Christmas for anyone. He sighed, and worked his brain as hard as he could, trying to salvage this entire situation for all concerned.

"Look-- I think you both were very brave to do what you did," he finally said. "It wasn't very bright, but it was very brave."

Leo and Raph, caught by surprise, sort of smiled, and felt that things were not as bad as they knew they were. Donnie understood. Donnie didn't blame them. For some reason, that made a difference. Their brainy brother understood their motives-- that really meant something!

Then they heard a small sob escape Mikey. Try as he might, the youngest was losing his battle to be strong. Christmas was ruined. Santa would not come-- why should he when his own brothers admitted that they were going to attack him with bokken?

"Why did you have to do it?" he finally cried, trying to hide his face. "What did I do to you? I only wanted Santa to come and bring us presents! Even when I knew I wouldn't get nothing for splitting Raphy's lip, I still wanted you guys to get presents! But NO! Little baby Mikey is stupid to want that! Now Santa isn't gonna come, and I'm glad! I'm glad you two won't get any presents-- but now Donnie won't get any, either, and after all he did to help me get Splinter--!"

And he cried into the blanket and could not be comforted by Donnie, no matter what his older brother said or did.

Leo and Raph felt terrible. Once again they'd crushed their little brother-- and over what? Just because he wanted this? What had it mattered? Why could they not have listened-- no, BELIEVED Splinter when he had told them time and again that nothing bad would happen to them; that they were safe; that NO ONE could take them away from Father?

"Mikey, they was only worried about us," Donnie kept trying to make peace, but Mikey no longer cared. Everything was ruined, and now they couldn't have Christmas.

"I-I j-jjust want-ed to do s-stuff l-l-like other kids," he gulped out. "Hallo-ween was just -like oth-er kids, a-and Christ-mas is just- like other-other kids! D-Don't you get- it? I just want to be like other kiiidssss!"

And his sobs made the bed shake in sympathy with his sorrow.

Three turtles sighed, trying to find the words to comfort him and failing miserably.

"Mikey," Don finally said. "Mikey, the truth is, we aren't like other kids. You know this. And yet-- we ARE like other kids. We play, and we watch TV, and we fight, and we read, and we tell jokes-- and we play jokes on each other-- like..." desperately he thought... "Remember that time when Raph was grounded?"

"Raph is always grounded," Leo pointed out, then "Hey!" as Raph bopped him one for saying it.

"This was a time that Mikey played a joke on Raph when he was grounded," Don smiled.

"He always plays a joke on me when I'm grounded," Raph frowned.

"Yeah-- but this time was when he kept bringing you water and milk to drink..."

And Don retold Mikey's story to Raph and Leo in such a way that the other two were soon laughing in spite of the coming punishments. Even Raph had to admit that it had been a good joke, though it had better never happen again.

Mikey tried to quit crying, but though he was calming down, he still had tears leaking from his eyes, and he still felt this overwhelming sadness.

"Mikey, tell them about the present," Don tried desperately. Mikey did not look like he wanted to share this information. After all, Leo and Raph had been against Santa's visit from the start! Why should Mikey tell them something that they would only make fun of?

"What present, Mikey?" Leo asked, trying to make it up to his little brother. But Mikey just could not bring himself to open his mouth.

"You got Splinter a present, Mikey? How did you do that?" Raph also tried, but to no avail. Mikey's mouth remained firmly shut-- except for a hiccupy sob every now and again.

"Raph, that note you thought was to Santa," Don said. "It was to Mrs. Sakai. Mike wanted to leave it at the store with some money to buy Splinter a Christmas present-- because Santa doesn't bring presents to adults. Mike--"

"It don't matter," Mikey sighed abruptly, and he turned his back on them all-- he was sleeping on the end, and he faced away, closing his eyes. He had quit the noisy part of crying, and just wanted to forget this entire thing. "It was stupid of me to ever have wanted a visit from Santa. Raph was right last year-- mutant turtles don't get visits from Santa. Raph was right. I see that now."

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Raph was right after all. All this bad luck just proved it. He closed his eyes tightly, and willed himself to go to sleep.

Don gave his older brothers a look that was part apology, part accusation. Then he, too, sighed, and would have turned over as well-- but Splinter had reentered the room.

Once again, two of the turtles tensed up, wondering if their punishment would take place at once.

Splinter dragged the old rocking chair over to the side of the bed where Leonardo and Raphael were the closest. They were not encouraged by the look on his face. He was wearing that "I am sorry but I must do this terrible thing for your own good" look he wore just before a spanking. Both sons cringed, thinking of their coming pain.

"My sons, I am extremely disappointed in the two of you," he said quietly. "I am not disappointed in your reasons; I am proud that the two of you would fight so hard to protect your brothers. It is what I have been trying to instill in all four of you since shortly after you came to me that fateful day."

His eyes, sad but shining with pride, made them want to hide under the blankets and never ever ever come out again!

"But I am disappointed that, despite my assurances to the two of you, you still believed that something evil could or would happen. It hurts me that my sons believe that I would lie to them about their safety; that I would allow anything evil into this home to harm my sons."

With every word, Leonardo and Raphael slouched lower and lower in the bed. They could not bear to look their father in the eyes, and they felt the tears of guilt sting their own as the words entered their ears and worked their way into their hearts.

"We're sorry, father," Leo nearly sobbed, wanting to get into his lap but knew that he was not to leave the bed without permission.

"We really are! We didn't mean to doubt you! Really we didn't!" Raph was as sincere as Leo, and he, too, made as if to move out of the bed, to seek forgiveness in Father's arms-- but he, too, knew that they were to stay put until Splinter said they may move.

Splinter smiled inwardly, and held out his arms-- and was hard pressed to keep the rocking chair from tipping over backward as two turtles once again launched themselves at him-- only this time in love, not fear.

Donnie watched as Splinter forgave these two for being concerned yet foolish brothers. He watched Raph and Leo as their faces, which had been tense and worry-wrinkled ever since they'd been put to bed in here, smooth out to peaceful, comforted expressions of joy and relief.

He wondered if Splinter had any hugs that would cheer up Mikey as much as Leo and Raph had been cheered up...

Splinter caught him looking at him, and then glanced at Michelangelo's back to them all. He sighed, and gave the two overly-protective brothers another hug, then without words encouraged them to get back into bed.

Once tucked in, he walked around to the other side, and knelt down. Michelangelo's eyes were closed, but Splinter was fairly certain he was not asleep.

"My son," he whispered, a hand gently wiping the stray tear away. "It will be all right. I promise you."

Mikey didn't respond, except to squeeze his eyes tighter, to tighten his grip on the blanket that he'd pulled up over part of his face to cover the shameful fact that he had resorted to sucking his thumb in his grief-- he had not sucked his thumb in years, except in very trying circumstances, and when he was certain that no prying eyes belonging to any brother that might tease him about it (Raph) could see.

Splinter simply shook his head, and kissed his "sleeping" son. Then he turned his attention to Donatello.

"You are certainly a good brother as well as an excellent son," was all he said, and he reached across Michelangelo and hugged Donatello. Donnie returned the hug with an extra-hard squeeze.

"You are an excellent Father," he whispered so the others could not here. "And I love you."

Splinter once again tucked them in snugly.

"Aren't you gonna sleep with us?" Leo asked sleepily.

"No, I will make my bed on the floor-- in front of the door, so no intruder may disturb us," Splinter smiled, as he got out an old futon mat he kept in the closet for emergencies. It did not take long for him to make himself comfortable. He blew out all but one candle-- the largest one that he kept on his dresser, well-protected from accidental fires by being set in a large pan of water, so that if it were to tip, it would be extinguished at once. "Good night, my sons. Merry Christmas."

"Night," three voices echoed; then gradually the only sounds coming from the room were the peaceful breaths of sleeping children.

Splinter lay there a few more minutes, making sure that no one was trying any fake tricks. The only one he knew for sure was awake was Michelangelo. The occasional smothered hiccup gave away the fact that this one was not ready for slumber.

Splinter listened to this for perhaps ten minutes, then:

"My son," he whispered. "Bring your pillow and come here."

Silence-- then the sound of a sad turtle scooting out of the bed, careful not to wake any brothers. Patter patter in the dark; then a forlorn son climbed under the large quilt that his father held up in welcome, and Michelangelo, snuggled safe with his father, finally found the peace he needed to fall asleep.

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It was dark and cold, but the turtle could see by the clock on the dresser, illuminated by the lone flicker of the candle, that it was about four a.m.

Carefully he got out of the bed, trying not to disturb his sleeping brothers. Quietly he padded across the cold floor to where Sensei was asleep on the mat, evidently holding onto a slightly snoring Michelangelo. There was no way he would be able to sneak past Splinter without being heard, so he didn't try.

"Father? Father! I have to go to the bathroom."

Splinter, hearing this in his light sleep, gave his permission with a whispered "very well", and in relief the young turtle stepped out the door and hurried down the hall.

However, the bathroom was not his first stop-- he entered his bedroom and, guided by the night light, made his way to his most secret hiding place. Feeling around quickly in the dark, he found the carefully guarded "door" of his hidden hideyhole, and by touch found exactly what he'd been searching for.

Quickly, for Father would be listening and would come looking if he took too long, he hurried out to where they'd hung the stockings. Mikey's was easy to locate in the faint glow of the living room night light, and he quickly slipped into it something that would hopefully make his little brother happy-- though the rest of the family might not be as pleased.

He turned to head to the bathroom-- and froze!

His eyes simply could not believe what they saw! In the poor, dim light shining from the outlet, there were-- were-- PRESENTS! Under the Christmas tree!

PRESENTS!

He-- he was-- stunned!

A noise from his father's bedroom reminded him that he was to be in the bathroom. With great difficulty he tore himself from this amazing sight, ran into the bathroom, quickly made his lie the truth, flushed, and ran back to the room.

"Sorry," he whispered, as he saw that Splinter's eyes were open, watching him. "Sorry I took so... Father! Guess what I saw!"

Splinter smiled, and put a finger to his mouth.

"I gather something wonderful," he whispered back. "But let us get a few more hours sleep, please."

Nodding vigorously, the wandering turtle carefully got back into bed, snuggling the blankets around himself and his two other brothers. But there was just no way he was going to be able to sleep-- there was just no way! PRESENTS! There were PRESENTS under the TREE! How could he possibly sleep? How could he... possibly...

...zzzzzzzzzzz...


	9. Chapter 9

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Ummmm... See, I have this little problem... I fully intended this to be the last chapter in the past, and then move onto the "present"-- but I've kind of gotten carried away, and therefore there is probably one more chapter of chibi sappiness, to be followed by teenage sappiness. My apologies for stretching this out. I am ashamed. bows in apology

TMNT are the property of Mirage, who threatened to have me arrested if I tried to send them a fruit cake. "Merii Kurisumasu."

**Chapter 9: So Be Good for Goodness Sake!**

The problem with living underground is that day and night can pretty much be the same.

Splinter got up at seven a.m. and turned on the electric lights in his room. He only had them on in the "mornings". Otherwise, candles were his lighting preference.

"Good morning, my sons," he announced to the sleeping turtles. "And Merry Christmas!"

One by one they stretched, yawned, made the usual waking up noises. But at the words "Merry Christmas" Mikey bolted upright from the futon, the disappointments of the night not forgotten but, in true Mikey fashion, forgiven.

There may not be gifts from Santa, he reasoned, but it WAS Christmas! There were the stockings, and there would be games, and Father would bake a chocolate cake!

AND he had a present for Father!

"Merry Christmas!" he shouted, jumping on the bed where Raph had burrowed under the covers. Leo had gotten up with the alarm, and Don was just now crawling out of the way, but Raph, not a morning person, had tried to keep the harsh, unfriendly light away by his typical tactic of burying himself under the blankets, pillow covering his head.

Mikey easily found the lump that was his brother, and he straddled him, crowing about being the champion of the dojo.

"Get off!" came the muffled protest, and Raph, weighed down with blanket, pillow, and little brother, had a hard time extricating himself from the bed.

"Yippee! It's Christmas! C'mon, Raphy! Let's go look in our stockings!" Mikey shouted. Then, as an after thought, he jumped off his brother and ran out of the door, shouting "I'm first to the bathroom!"

"He's always first to the bathroom," Raph grumbled, crawling out of bed and joining the others in line. He stood in the hall, grumpy as usual, and marveled in his mind at the sounds of singing coming from the bathroom. "I don't get it-- last night he was crying his eyes out 'cause of what happened, and now he's acting like nothing's the matter."

"Well, you know Mikey," Leo responded, waiting for his turn. "He gets over stuff quickly."

"Yeah, but he's acting like it wasn't important after all," Raph shrugged.

"You guys are wrong," Don spoke up for his little brother. "He doesn't get over it. He just doesn't mope about it like you guys do. This meant a lot to him, and it still does. You guys'll never understand. Mikey doesn't hold grudges."

For some reason their attitude was making him angry. They acted like no one had had their hopes dashed, or their hearts broken by the events of the previous evening.

"Yeah, whatever," Raph, spinning around in the hall, bored, dismissed what Don was saying. He knew that Don was speaking the truth though. It **had** meant a lot to Mikey, and he and Leo would have to find some way to make it up to little brother. "Anyways, Leo, are we still going to trade apples and oranges? You know that---"

Suddenly Raph froze; in his spinning, he'd seen into the living room several times, not really paying attention, not really noticing anything-- and then Something caught his attention. He stood there, dizzy and wavering, but staring as if there was something unbelievable just sitting there right before his eyes.

"Leo! Don! LOOK!" he shouted, his voice reflecting the shock.

"What's the mat--" Leo turned to look-- and he, too, froze in disbelief. "No! It can't be!"

"Cannot be what, my son?" Splinter, dressed for the day, came out of his room and joined them in the hall. He, too, looked at the sight. "Well, what in the world! It looks as if we have had a visitor!"

"Mikey! Mikey! Hurry up!" Don shouted, smiling in anticipation. "MIKEY!"

"Wait your turn, I'm almost done!" he shouted back. Gee whiz. They messed up Christmas-- the least they could do is not shout at him to hurry up in the bathroom. Well, Don hadn't messed it up, he corrected himself as he flushed the toilet and went to was his hands. But still...

Now all three were banging on the door, shouting:

"Mikey! Hurry up! You gotta hurry up and come see this!"

"Come on, Mikey, open the door!"

"Hurry! Hurry up!"

Mikey yanked the door open abruptly, rather annoyed. It didn't matter that he was trying to make the best of this situation, it made him mad that they were rushing him for no good reason.

"What's the big hurry--" but before he could continue, three pairs of hands grabbed him by the arms and pajamas; three excited brothers bodily dragged him into the living room; three pairs of eyes glued themselves to his face, wanting to be the first to see the anticipated expression.

Mikey, as they dragged him into the room, saw what they had been shouting about, and he quit moving. He stood frozen in place, afraid to go closer to the tree; REFUSING to go closer to the tree!

There were presents! PRESENTS! Large and small, beautifully wrapped-- bows, ribbons, everything that he had ever seen in TV shows, story books, and movies!

PRESENTS!

On the tree, where he had hung his one candy cane-- there were many more, many more candy canes! And cookies! Cookies shaped like little men!

But the PRESENTS! Mikey was sure he was mistaken; how could there be presents? They must all be for Don! Yes, Don was not forgotten by Santa! HURRAY! Don would get all the presents!

Then Splinter was standing there, smiling at his son. He had spoken to Michelangelo, but it had not registered. Mikey realized that his father was waiting for an answer.

"I... I'm sorry, Father, what did you say?"

"I said, you must hand out the presents," he replied, placing a hand on his shoulder and moving him towards the tree.

Mikey hung back; he was afraid if he got closer, it would all vanish, like some teasing dream. Splinter firmly guided him nearer the tree, and the presents stayed where they were.

He looked once more at Splinter. Splinter smiled encouragingly, and gestured him to pick up one of the gifts.

He reached his little hand out towards the nearest, as if afraid it would suddenly spring to life and attack him. Slowly his fingers neared the shiny red paper, decorated with a bright blue bow-- closer, closer, closer-- then came in contact with it-- he snatched his hand back, suddenly shy. He stood there, and the scene began to blur in his vision as his eyes filled with tears. Then he burst out crying, putting his face in his hands.

"What the heck?" Raph, who had been watching the joy of his baby brother with the biggest grin on his face, was floored. "Mikey? What's the matter? Why are you crying?"

"Mikey, what is it?" Leo asked, also shocked at this sudden outburst. He tried to get a better look at the package he had touched; had it hurt him? Was it something that had hurt when he had touched it?

"My son, what is the problem?" Splinter asked, concerned, kneeling down to hold him.

Mikey's face came out of his hands, and he was grinning despite his tears.

"He came, after all," is all he said. Then he threw his arms around his father and hugged him tight.

Splinter felt his own throat choke up at the emotional reaction and the simple words of his son, and he understood Michelangelo's tears. He returned the hug, then gently made him let go.

"Your brothers are waiting, Michelangelo. Pass out the gifts to them."

Mikey laughed, and grabbed up the red package. It was addressed to Raphael!

"Here, Raph! Merry Christmas!" he shouted, and Raph stood there, dumbfounded, holding this shiny, shiny red package as if it would explode.

"For me?" the amazement in his voice more than matching the expression on his face. "For me?"

Tentatively, he shook it, he didn't know why. He sat down on the floor, plop, as if his legs had given out, and stared at the bright red paper-covered box as if looking at something unbelievable.

"Leo! This one's for you!" Mikey's voice cut through Raph's shock, and he glanced up to see his brother holding a small green and red striped package, looking as stunned as he was feeling.

"I-- I--"

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Raph said, as Leo sank down cross-legged next to his brother. He, too, was unsure what to do.

"I guess we open them?" Leo, looking up at Splinter, asked.

"Let us wait until all the gifts are handed out," Splinter replied, and that was fine with Leo and Raph. They were still a bit leery of the whole thing; after all, who knew what could happen when dealing with Humans?

Though these things appeared to be harmless...

"Don! Look! LOOK! Here are two for you, one on top of the other!" Mikey sang out, and with much laughter he handed a large present to his brother, with a smaller one balanced on top. "OHHH! Here's another one for Raph! And another for Leo! Yeah! You guys got lucky after all!"

Before they could respond, Leo and Raph each had a large present on the floor in front of them to go with the smaller ones in their hands.

Then Mikey stopped shouting and laughing as he realized that two more presents were under the tree.

Suddenly, his enthusiasm was gone. He did not dare to touch them. They must be for Don, he thought. Don was the best-- he would get more-- he deserved more--

Splinter, seeing Michelangelo's hesitation, reached under the tree and retrieved the last two gifts, handing them to his son with a "Merry Christmas, Michelangelo."

Mikey, as if in a dream, reached out and took the presents. He, too, sank down on the floor, where Don joined him, smiling at his baby brother. On the tags, in beautiful handwriting, Mikey read the words: "To Michelangelo! Merry Christmas from Santa Claus!"

The four of them just sat there, eyes big, faces grinning. Splinter thought for a minute that they were not going to open anything. Then Raphael couldn't stand it any longer, and he tore open the smallest gift first. That rip of the paper echoed in the relative silence of the room, startling them all, and before he knew what he was doing, Leo was opening his smaller one as well. Donatello, shaking his head and smiling, opened his.

"A MOTORCYCLE!" Raph bellowed in joy. "A POLICE MOTORCYCLE!" The largest gift, the coming punishment, the fear of Santa was gone in the time it took Raph to get that brand new, shiny, unused toy from the box. He was on his knees in a heartbeat, crawling around on two knees and one hand, racing the incredibly new toy around the floor with the other hand, accompanied by various energetic "vroooooooooommmmmmm-vvvvrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmm-WOOOO-woooo-WOOOO-woooo" sound effects.

Leo stared hard at what he held: a brand-new, never before read, unstained by garbage book! He carefully traced the cover with one hand, lovingly feeling the smoothness of the dust jacket, carefully examining the picture.

"The Hobbit," he whispered, sounding out the strange word. This was a chapter book and no mistake about it! This was a brand-new book-- something he'd never even dreamt of. Surely there would be NO missing pages or chapters in this! Why, he could **tell** just by looking that it had never been read before!

His very own, brand-new, untouched book! This was just too good to be true!

Don laughed at what he'd opened: it was a small tool kit, just the right size for a small turtle-- yet they were REAL TOOLS! NOT toys, not used stuff that he and Splinter had found over the years, but real, honest to goodness shiny new tools! He fingered each one lovingly, imaging all the things he was going to do with them, just as soon as he found a project suitable for workign on with such magnificent objects!

Then they remembered the larger gifts! Now the initial shyness was off. The three of them, even Don, tore into the larger packages, and almost in unison the lair rang out with Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

"A Hot Wheels® race track! Wow! Just like the one I saw on TV!" Raph exclaimed, and the motorcycle was temporarily forgotten with the activity of a car-happy turtle opening the box, preparing to build the bestest race course in the world.

"Wow! Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots®!" Leo shouted, and he, too, forgot everything as he began the task of freeing this game from the pack and manipulating the controls, trying to figure out how to fight both of them at once without brotherly assistance.

Donatello was speechless-- his was something called an Erector Set®-- BETTER THAN LEGOS® AND BLOCKS!

"It says you can build five different things with this!" he excitedly told his father, who was beaming on at the sight. "Course, I can probably build more..."

Then eventually all eyes turned to Mikey. He was sitting there, clutching his presents, and just watching the others with a grin that was indescribable. He was joyfully observing each brother's reaction and actions as if viewing a special Christmas show put on just for him, just for the sole entertainment of Hamato Michelangelo. He wanted it to go on forever and ever and ever and ever and---

"Uh, Mikey, why ain't you opened your presents yet?" Raph finally asked, and the others echoed his question.

Mikey, as if in answer, just looked at the two gifts he was clutching on his lap. The smaller one was wrapped in beautiful green paper and decorated with lots and lots of snowmen who were putting up Christmas trees, or skiing, or carrying presents, or eating candy canes. The paper was shiny and crinkled at each loving touch; the sound was pleasing to the turtle, and for a while, he had just made it crackle and crinkle, as if playing music with it. The gold bow that tied off the gold ribbon that encircled the box was the prettiest thing he'd ever remembered seeing.

The largest box, almost half his size, was wrapped in red Santa Claus paper, and everywhere he looked was the jolly gift giver going about his business of spreading Christmas cheer to good little girls and boys. A shiny green ribbon and bow perfectly accented this most beautiful of presents, and Mikey just couldn't get enough of looking at it all-- when he wasn't watching his brothers celebrating Christmas, that is!

Now he looked up at his family again. Why **hadn't** he opened his gifts yet? He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly.

"Cause they're presents," he said simply. Then he looked at them again, and hugged them. "Cause they're presents from Santa, and... and... well, they're **presents**."

Now everyone looked at each other, confused.

"Whatcha gonna do, **sleep **with 'em instead of opening 'em?" Raph asked, serious, as he pictured Mikey carrying them around for ever and ever in their unwrapped state.

"My son, please open your gifts," Splinter requested with a smile. Mikey looked into his father's rich brown eyes, and smiled back, then looked again at his gifts. He hated to tear up that paper! It was as beautiful as anything he'd ever seen.

Then, carefully, and to the amusement of the others, Mikey, who was never known to take anything slow-- how many times, for example, had he burnt his mouth trying to eat the occasional slice of really hot pizza before it had cooled enough to be safely bitten into-- gently worked the gold ribbon off of the small box, carefully unfastened the tape that held down the paper, and by great effort unwrapped his gift without tearing one snowman-- and whooped with delight.

"A PUZZLE! A SANTA PUZZLE!"

There was a box containing a jigsaw puzzle that evidently had 1000 pieces, and the finished picture was one of Santa, sitting in his chair by the fireplace, boots off, jacket off, and stockinged feet propped up, snoozing. The calendar on the wall read "December 26th", and it was so funny that Mikey laughed long and loud-- though more for the joy of having a puzzle that was NOT going to be missing pieces like the ones Splinter had found over the years.

He was so thrilled with this gift that for a moment the larger one was forgotten-- but not for long. This time he worked quicker, but still just as carefully. Santa and the ribbon both survived the unwrapping. But unlike his brothers, the box he uncovered revealed nothing of what it contained. He worked the lid off--

"OH! OH! OH! OH!" was all that came out of his mouth. The others crowded in close to peer inside.

There were several large, thick pads of art paper! And a huge box of 120 brand-new, unbroken, perfect CRAYONS! And PENCILS of all colors! And special drawing pencils! And erasers! And PAINTS, real PAINTS! And something called "oil pastels"! And BRUSHES, and MARKERS and GLUE and... and... and...

"Wow, Mikey!" Leo was impressed, as were the others. This was so cool! It was as if someone had personally chosen each item and put it in the box especially for their little brother. It was the perfect gift for him.

Indeed, all the gifts were perfect, but for some reason, even more than the tools that Donnie got, this was extra-special perfect!

Happy chatter reigned in the living room for several more minutes as the brothers examined each other's gifts, and laughed, and promised to share with each other, and so on-- and in the midst of it all, Don nudged Mikey.

"Hey!" he whispered, nodding his head pointedly towards Splinter.

Oh, NO! Mikey had forgotten! With a shout, he jumped up, ran as fast as he could into the bedroom and was back before anyone (except Don) knew what he was up to.

"Here, Father!" he grinned, huffing from the quick run and holding out the beautiful small gift to Splinter. "MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

Splinter pretended surprise.

"A- a gift for ME?" he asked, eyes wide as he took the present from his beaming son. "Why, who gave **me** a gift?"

"All of us," Mikey quickly announced. "Only Leo and Raph didn't get to sign their names yet..."

"No," Leo denied. He was not going to let Mikey do this. "No, Father. Raph and I had nothing to do with that present. That was all Mikey and Don's idea."

"Actually," Don said, clarifying, "it was all Mikey's idea. I just helped."

"No!" Michelangelo put on his stubborn face and looked at them all. "I say it is from all of us. Merry Christmas! Open it! Open it!"

Splinter, humoring his son, carefully unwrapped the package, revealing--

"An Electric Shaver?"

He quickly glanced at the face of his son. That face was simply glowing with pride and love as he watched his father holding the special present.

Splinter recovered quickly, and managed to smile in genuine gratitude.

"My son, this is-- this is quite a surprise," he said honestly. "I do not know how to thank you for this-- unique gift."

And he hugged Michelangelo, who returned it tenfold.

"Merry Christmas," Mikey whispered again, squeezing Splinter tight. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he affirmed back, then looked at them all. "I love all of you, my sons. Now, how about some pancakes for breakfast?"

His question was greeted with a chorus of "yes!", and four turtles, after carefully cleaning up the papers and carefully placing their opened gifts back under the tree, hurried to finish what Christmas presents had interrupted-- using the bathroom and getting ready for the day!


	10. Chapter 10

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I know that I could have probably ended with the last chapter-- it was tempting, since I've been having problems with the conclusion of this tale. But I believe that I will soldier on! I need to bring them up to the present. Mikey needs to repay Don, and by Kris Kringle, he is going to repay him! It ain't over 'til the fat man shouts "Ho-Ho-Ho!" TMNT are the property of Mirage, though I am hanging up my stockings and leaving out all sorts of bribes for Santa in the hopes that MAYBE...

**Chapter 10- With Little Tin Horns...**

Splinter was pouring pancake batter onto the hot griddle, and watching as the nicely formed circles quickly bubbled and firmed around the edges, rising up ever so slightly as the center bubbles popped and held. At the right moment, he expertly flipped them, revealing nicely golden browned sides, and they once again rose up from the pan, nice and fluffy and smelling like heaven to four hungry turtle tots.

Normally they would be under foot, each waiting a chance to claim the biggest, hottest pancakes; but this morning they were still busy marveling at the amazing turn of events that had taken place.

Leonardo and Raphael were trying to figure out the best configuration for the race track, while Donatello was searching the lair for the perfect tool box to house his new tools (still in their original container, but really! One needed a proper tool box when one had proper tools!). Michelangelo was sitting at the table, working with one of the art pads and some of the drawing pencils-- carefully erasing the tiniest mark, trying desperately not to waste one precious sheet of the drawing paper!

"Father, hold that pose!" he earnestly requested, eyes going from the figure of the rat at the stove to the pad and back again.

"If I do that, the breakfast will burn my son," he smiled, carefully depositing four more cakes onto the main plate, and placing the little "cover" on top to try to keep them warm. Then he poured four more nicely shaped pancakes onto the happy-sounding griddle.

Mikey sighed, shaking his head, and did his best to work around such an uncooperative model.

"We didn't look in our stockings yet," he commented as he carefully drew Splinter's tail-- at least IT was posing for him, staying still so he could capture its features accurately. In the back of his mind he imagined what it would be like to have a really cool long tail that could smack down his brothers in the dojo the way Splinter had smacked down Leo and Raph the night before-- then dismissed it as impractical. After all, though he would be able to smack down Raph, Raph would be able to grab hold of it and swing him around, and the image of his being spun over Raph's head like a yo-yo at the end of a string disturbed him greatly.

Four more cakes joined the rest under the cover. Four more rounds were poured into the pan.

"We will look after breakfast," Splinter replied, smiling. He finished the last four pancakes, then turned off the stove and set the table. Michelangelo reluctantly left his first masterpiece and went to get the milk, syrup, and butter without being asked.

Splinter looked at the drawing, and nodded, pleased that he had mentioned art to Mr. Sakai. It was obviously supposed to be Splinter. The tail was very nicely done, if a bit long, and he had actually managed to make a few of the "folds" in his robe look very realistic! He still had a way to go, but it could safely be said that this was indeed Splinter-- a child's drawing of Splinter, and yet with a hint of a budding talent in the process.

"I am going to move this, my son, so it does not become ruined by our food," he told him, carefully putting the pad, pencils and erasers on the top of the refrigerator for safe keeping.

Mikey carefully poured the milk in the glasses that Splinter had already set on the table.

"Do you like it? It's not finished. I'll have to wait until you fix pancakes again," he commented as he went about his business of dispensing the tasty cold milk.

"Perhaps after I wash the dishes, I could 'pose' for you as if I were cooking," Splinter suggested.

Mikey thought about that long and hard, face wrinkled in indecision.

"Well... I don't know... it kind of is supposed to be real-life... but that would be a waste of food," he mused, then shrugged and smiled. "Okay, I can pretend that you are cooking while you stand there! It will only take a few minutes!" Then, in typical Michelangelo fashion: "What is that letter? Did Santa leave it after having the milk and cookies"

Splinter, momentarily confused, looked to where his son was pointing on the table. The letter from Mr. Sakai (Splinter assumed it was from him, anyway) was still lying there, next to the empty place and glass.

It had been hard to tell whom had been more impressed with the fact that Santa had stayed long enough for a snack-- Michelangelo or Leonardo and Raphael. Splinter shook his head as he put these neglected objects in the sink, laughing to himself how his two older sons had viewed the glass as if examining it for human fingerprints, as they ignored the already cheerful little brother who was even more thrilled by the evidence of a thoroughly enjoyed treat ("Look! Hardly any crumbs! He must have been hungry! And the glass is almost dry! He must drink milk like ME!").

" 'Do not open until Christmas' ," Michelangelo read aloud, examining the envelope. "It feels very thick! That must be some letter!"

"We will open it now," Splinter said, as Donatello, temporarily defeated in his search, came into the kitchen and took his seat, setting his precious tools on the table next to his plate.

"Open what? Wow! A letter? Did you get that from the--" He froze; he had almost said "Sakais", but Mikey was there-- "from Santa?" And he looked at Splinter with almost a wink.

"Leonardo! Raphael! Come to breakfast!" Splinter called, as he, too, took his seat and retrieved the envelop from Michelangelo. "We are about to find out, my son."

As the two arguing turtles ("I'm tellin' ya, the box says it can be done!" "And I'm telling YOU that you need more pieces!") took their places, Splinter opened the envelope. Leo and Raph stopped their "discussion" long enough to stare with interest as four small, decorated envelopes, two plain, pale blue envelopes, and a simple note were removed from the larger one. Splinter read the short note, and his sons noticed his eyes glistening.

"Is it bad news?" Raph asked, worried that perhaps the note was a warning or a threat. After all, Santa had been nice and left them gifts; had he also left them a warning?

"No, it is a nice note," he replied. "It is from Mrs. Sakai. She says here that she 'asked Santa Claus to deliver these _ Otoshidama_ to the Hamato children on behalf of her husband and herself'. And she wishes us a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year."

"_Otoshidama_," Leonardo repeated carefully, looking at the envelope Splinter now passed around the table to each of them. His had a funny smiling crocodile on it, and some symbols he had not learned to read yet; but he knew what the word meant. "It's not the New Year's yet, Father. Should we open these?"

"She indicates in this note that you may-- she considers it an early gift, and since she has no idea when I will be visiting, she felt safer in entrusting it to Santa to deliver them," Splinter replied, keeping a serious face the entire time.

Michelangelo just could not believe his luck! Presents from Santa, and an envelope with a surfing penguin on it! Quickly yet carefully, he opened his-- "Money! Wow! Money!" And he pulled a crisp, green bill from the packet-- the number "20" bold on the rectangle.

Now the others opened theirs as well, and each had the same amount, represented in the cleanest, newest piece of money they had ever seen in their lives! This for SURE had never been in the sewers or on the sidewalk or near a dumpster!

"_Otoshidama_ is for spending," Donatello pointed out. "How are we going to spend it?"

"When you come to the store with me next time, you bring it with you," Splinter explained, serving breakfast, "and I will allow you to choose something. Or you might save it for the future."

Don looked back at his envelope. On his was a girl and boy in traditional dress-- the boy was whispering a secret to the girl. He would save his, he thought, carefully putting it back in the envelope, and placing both under his tool kit. He would save his against the hard times; or in case he actually could BUY a worthy box for his new tools.

There were still two blue envelopes left, but Splinter ignored them, encouraging everyone to eat up. Michelangelo needed no prodding; he started wolfing through his four cakes as if the day would vanish in disaster unless he saved everyone with his special ability to be first one finished! He barely wiped the syrup from his mouth, chugged down his milk, wiped **that** from his mouth as well, before he was asking "What are those other envelopes?"

"Hmm?" Splinter was still on his fourth bite of breakfast. "Those? One is for you, and the other is for Donatello."

Mikey was about to grab one, when the look he got from Splinter reminded him of his manners.

"May I have the one for me, Father?"

Splinter signaled that he may, and Michelangelo picked up the blue envelope that was addressed to "Hamato Michelangelo".

Opening it, he found a folded piece of paper of the same pale blue.

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"Dear Michelangelo,

Thank you for believing in me. I hope that you enjoy the gifts I have left for you.

I know that it is not easy to be good all the time, especially when you have three older brothers, but I also know that you have a good heart. The fact that you would do anything to get your father a present for Christmas-- indeed, the fact that you, despite having injured your brother in anger, nevertheless still wanted him to have Christmas presents even though you believed that you would not get any, tells me that you care about others before yourself. You are a good son.

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Sincerely,

Santa"

Mikey just stared at the letter, and smiled and smiled and smiled. Ha! Santa was the bestest! Even Leo and Raph could see that now! Ha!

Donatello looked on, curious, and then Splinter silently handed him his envelope, while Mikey started reading his aloud with many "yes, that is true, you know, I do have a good heart" and other such comments, passing his precious letter to Father, but not to his two older brothers who "might get syrup on it, and I'm gonna keep it forever and ever".

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"Dear Donatello,

Merry Christmas! I know that you do not believe in me, but I certainly believe in you! The fact that you would work so hard to help your brother in his goal, especially after he had gotten in trouble by injuring one of you in anger, indicates that you are a very caring brother, and I am pleased to know you. Oh, yes, it is true; I know many boys and girls who do not believe in 'Santa'.

'Santa', you realize, is more than just my image of a jolly old fat man who brings gifts each year-- many people are in essence 'Santa' themselves when they care for others, and do good things without expecting anything in return-- and especially when they do these things out of love. You obviously love your brother enough to 'humor' him in his belief of me by not only watching so many Christmas shows with him, but also delivering his note to Mrs. Sakai, and even in encouraging him to wait up for **me**! I guess that makes you 'Santa' as well!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Sincerely,

Santa"

Don thought long and hard. His logical mind knew there was no Santa; his child's mind whispered "what if you're wrong?"

He realized that Splinter was watching him; silently he passed his letter to his father. Splinter read the missive, and once again his sons saw tears come to his eyes. Then he looked at Donatello, smiling.

"He is right," is all Splinter said, and though this was a puzzle to the others (for Don didn't share his letter, though Mikey pleaded really hard, promising him the moon and other impossible things), Don knew what his father meant. He carefully put it back in the envelope and hid it under the tool kit as well, then finished his breakfast slowly.

"Man, Donnie! I told you mine," Mikey was still complaining, kicking his chair legs with the heels of his feet, momentarily sulking.

Leo and Raph finished at the same time and asked in unison, "May I please be excused?"

"Yes, my sons," Splinter replied, and the words were hardly out of his mouth before the two of them raced to the sink to deposit their plates and glasses, then raced into the living room.

"Remember, Leo! You're gonna trade me your oranges for my apples," Raph's voice sounded in the other room.

The stockings! Mikey had forgotten the stockings!

"MayIpleasebeexcused?"

"You may-- Do not throw your glass into the sink!"

Donatello sat with Splinter, suddenly shy.

"Un, Father," he finally said. "Do you-- do you suppose that a person can be right and wrong at the same time?"

"This is about Santa, yes?"

"Yeah... see, I'm sort of confused. I mean, I know that you got the gifts, and that you brought them back from the Sakais. And I'm pretty sure you put it all out when you told us you were gonna straighten up the dojo after you found us all out of bed," he said. "And I'm guessing that someone like Mr. Sakai wrote that note-- I've seen Mrs. Sakai's handwriting-- and yours-- though it is possible that you could have disguised your handwriting-- and yet how would Mr. Sakai know-- unless you told him-- and yet I was there, I know you didn't tell him-- and yet how--"

"How did he know about what you've been doing?" Splinter asked, and Donatello nodded. Splinter thought, then sighed. "Well, my son, I am afraid I do not have a logical answer for this except to affirm what you originally asked. Yes, I believe it is possible to be right and wrong at the same time."

Before Donatello could continue, or Splinter could explain further, there was a SHOUT from the living room.

"OH! I don't BELIEVE this! OH, WOW!" Michelangelo's voice shook the lair. Two seconds later came the tuneless blast of a toy horn.

Splinter's eyes went wide even as his ears went flat. In shock, he quickly turned to Donatello, who scooted down in his seat, suddenly not hungry.

"Aww, MAN, Santa is punishin' us!" they both heard Raph complain to Leo. "This is his punishment to us for waiting to attack him!"

"Yeah, this is worse than a spanking!" they heard Leo agree earnestly.

The tooting sound grew closer as Michelangelo danced into the kitchen. The tune was the same note, but the rhythm indicated that he was in the midst of a very energetic rendition of "Jingle Bells". He circled the table a few times, then danced back into the living room to the accompaniment of protesting older brother voices imploring him to "STOP FOR GOODNESS SAKE!"

"Yes," Splinter said, looking at the sheepish Donatello. "I believe that the last line of your letter is true: I believe that this makes **you** 'Santa' as well."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christmas: Don, dozing at his computer, jerked awake at the approach of his overly cheerful brother Mikey. He was dressed for outside, and was carrying clothes, coat, hat, mittens, and boots for his brother.

"Come on, bro! You promised! And soon it'll be too late!" he wheedled, dropping the bundle next to Don's workstation.

"Mikey, I'm really busy. This security system has got to be improved! What with Karai back in the picture, and Bishop still lurking around out there somewhere-- we need to be prepared!"

Mikey sighed in frustration.

"Dude, you used that excuse the other day," he reminded him. "The day before, it was 'cause Splinter was feeling ill and you needed to hang around just in case he needed you. Last week it was because **you** were not feeling well. What is it about this that has you breaking your promises to your favorite little brother?"

"You're my only little brother," Don muttered, desperately turning to his computer in an attempt to look busy, though he knew as well as Mikey that he was just pretending. He just did NOT want to deal with this. It was not something he was looking forward to.

"Come ooooooon!"

Don sighed. If he just did it and got it out of the way, then Mikey would leave him alone.

"Okay-- but in a half-hour, okay? Please? I want to get some things together."

"Yes! I'll be waiting, bro!" And Mikey left, humming "Jingle Bells" as he headed for the kitchen for a quick snack.

Don sighed, marveling at Mikey's cheerfulness, and wondering why he just could not share in it. This Christmas, for some reason, was depressing him, and he still had not figured out why--

Well, that was a lie. He knew part of the reason. But he pushed it to the back of his mind, and went about gathering supplies in his handy-dandy duffel bag.

"I wish I didn't have to do this," he murmured, suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. Then he forced himself to smile. "I'm doing it for Mikey. That's all that matters."


	11. Chapter 11

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HI! Sorry, but Don was giving me fits, and the flu suddenly attacked me, and school was ending, and... Anyway, Thanks for your interest and your very kind words and compliments! Each one feels like a Christmas present to me! Merry Christmas! Woo-hoo!

TMNT is the Property of Mirage. I wrote a letter to Santa, but he hasn't promised anything yet.

****

Chapter Eleven: He's Making a List...

This used to make him happy.

Finding and repairing stuff; taking old toys and remaking them newer and better; refurbishing laptops, gaming systems, other electronics; sorting out the money he'd either earned by working for April or Casey, or that he had found in the sewers, or (more to his liking) recycling money that he and his brothers would "take" from drug dealers who were selling to kids, and putting it into the cute Otoshidama envelopes-- and then he and Mikey would "deliver" these surprises to various children April hooked them up with, or whom Casey pointed out to them; children who for a few happy moments would think that perhaps there WAS a Santa Claus after all...

This used to make him happy.

But this year, it seemed that there were more and more children in need, and several were repeat visits; wasn't anything getting better for people?

And it seemed that more and more there was a certain "reluctance" on the part of some to even say "Merry Christmas"-- some even objected to the holiday right out. Donatello, this year, was feeling the same.

What was it that Scrooge told his nephew? As he stood there, staring at the clothes he was to put on, his mind searched for the quote. Splinter had given him that book for Christmas when they were seven, and he had read it repeatedly. Ah, yes:

__

Scrooge: "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough."

Fred: "Come, then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough."

Bah, humbug, Don thought, sighing.

He'd read that book, and discussed it with Splinter, and realized what he was trying to tell him. Whenever he'd felt down around this time of year, he would find some comfort in that little story about hope and love and redemption. But this year...

This year had seen so many personal problems in his own family as well. Leo had not been himself since their final battle with the Shredder. He had been moody, careless, quick to anger-- more Raph-like than Raph-- well, that's not true, he corrected himself. Raph could be those things, but he never forgot that he had a family that cared for him. Leo had been so distant it was like another person who looked like Leo had taken his place. He'd taken to going out alone at night, searching for fights, sometimes taking Casey with him, but usually alone-- he never took his brothers unless it was a "training run".

He made bad judgment calls and careless mistakes one right after the other, and at the same time he would harangue the others with "We're not good enough! We must train more! We're not giving it our best!"

After a battle with Hun and his newly refurbished Dragons, Leo nearly went off the deep end-- bested by a guy they'd beaten time and again. And he increased his carelessness to the point where Don had been hurt. Leo swore after that incident that had injured Don so badly that he would try hard to change, but lately-- lately it was like it had never happened. He was surly even with Splinter some days, and they knew that their father would not tolerate that much longer. Don feared that Leo was going to do something unforgivable-- or deadly.

The Casey/April thing also had him down. He'd thought that he had long ago gotten over any crush he had on the brainy redhead, but lately, watching the two of them as they planned the Christmas Celebration they were going to have up at the farmhouse made him feel as if there was no point to anything, especially living.

But he knew the main reason was the Sakais.

As they had grown older, Splinter and his sons had still kept in touch with them, still visited the store in the dead of night. But their son, with the illness of Mr. Sakai, had become more and more involved in the running of the business, and he had frowned on these "late-night customers" to the point where he had installed surveillance equipment against the wishes of his parents. Finally they had decided that it was too risky to continue the relationship, and Splinter had left them a heartfelt and beautifully written farewell letter of gratitude.

That had been years ago, and once in a while, on their nightly runs, they'd pass the place, and have fond memories, and regretted that they could no longer visit.

Then the Triceraton invasion pretty much destroyed the place, including their home above the shop. They had fortunately escaped with their lives, but had lost everything. The son had no desire to rebuild, and Mr. Sakai lost the will to struggle on with his painful illness.

Don remembered when they had first seen the destruction. For months they had no idea what had become of the family, and then one night, Donatello had come across something on the Internet at one of the many sites he monitored. There was a posting, in Japanese, inquiring of the whereabouts of the Hamato family.

Mrs. Sakai, searching through the various Japanese community sites, had been advertising for any information regarding a Mr. Hamato and his four sons-- that she needed to see them so she could fulfill her husband's dying wish-- to meet the family.

Don noted the e-mail address, and consulted Splinter. Then Don helped his father with writing a reply.

The meeting was arranged, despite Splinter's letter to them trying to explain why it would not be a good idea. They would not take no for an answer, and finally Don told them the truth: that they were not "normal", but mutated beings-- the triceratons were not the only odd things to ever walk the earth, etc.-- and there was no response for a few weeks.

Then, Mrs. Sakai begged.

"I could not contact you sooner, as my husband's health deteriorated so much that I feared he would die at that moment. He is still alive-- indeed, his wish is to remain so until he can finally meet you. I know that you have told us this fantastic story, and we both have discussed this shock-- but after seeing the aliens that destroyed our home, and remembering all of your kindnesses and friendship, my husband is pleading that you please meet with him!"

Splinter had sighed, and thought long.

"Very well," he had said. "But tell them it is only to be a meeting between Mr. Sakai and myself. I insist that his wife not be present."

"I want to come as well," Don had insisted. Splinter had agreed, and the plans were set in motion. Mrs. Sakai had accepted the terms, and named a time. Due to his condition, he was allowed visitors past the normal hours. That would be the best time, she judged.

So Splinter, with Donatello, had gone to this secret meeting-- April and Casey had been enlisted to help pull it off.

Poor Mr. Sakai! He was so thin and weak, Don was afraid that the shock of seeing a large talking rat and a giant bo-wielding turtle would be too much for him. His eyes had grown large when Casey and April had smuggled them into the hospital room-- and then, when Splinter and he had bowed, when Splinter had addressed him in Japanese, he had smiled, and though his voice was almost gone, he insisted on speaking with this strange creature who had been a friend all these years.

"Please," he rasped out, as they prepared to leave. "Find it in your hearts to visit with my wife. She will need the comfort, and she will not be shocked, I swear it." Then he'd gone into a coughing fit, and the nurse was summoned. They left before they could promise anything.

Mr. Sakai had died shortly after that. Don had made a promise to himself that he would somehow keep in contact with the wife, but it was something that never happened due to their battles with Shredder and their constant run-ins with Bishop.

And all Don could think of was this woman, who had lost her husband, her business-- and evidently her family-- her son had taken his own family back to Japan shortly after the invasion, and she had refused to go-- and things happened-- and Don had MEANT to find her, to keep in touch-- but--

Don found himself dropping tears once again as he thought of all he should have done.

Splinter had been ill; Don feared every time that Splinter got sick that something would happen to him. Every time he got better, and Don would be so glad... and yet he feared the next time...

"Come on, Don!" Mikey, carrying his version of Santa's bag, was waiting impatiently. Don still hadn't dressed yet.

"I don't feel like doing this, Mikey," he said simply. "I just do not feel like doing this."

So sad... his whole being reeked of sadness. Mike could feel it emanating from Don. Putting down the sack, he sighed and, stepping forward, hugged his brother, secure in the knowledge that Raph was not around to see this display of affection.

"Don, I know; I know how you've been feeling, and maybe even why-- but if you sit around here moping, then you're never gonna get over it, and..."

He didn't finish the sentiment; the look in Don's eyes was enough to quell the clichés. He settled for pulling a Santa cap from his pocket and putting it on Don's head before his brother could say anything.

"Come on, we gotta get moving!" And Mikey without looking back grabbed the bag and headed to the elevator. He didn't need to see Don to know that he had tossed the hat to the ground.

Don followed, putting on the rest of his gear as they traveled up to the garage.

Don nearly refused to go at that point-- Mikey had decked out the "Battle Shell" with tinsel, wreathes, multicolored lights, strings of POPCORN, and other seasonal decorations, including many created by the artistic brother-- a spectacularly drawn Santa Claus dominated the back doors, and on top of the roof was a small yet fantastic-looking Christmas Tree!

"Mikey, we're not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves!" Don protested. "That's gonna attract the notice of everyone-- including the police! You KNOW that I faked the license and registration!"

"You worry too much, brother of mine," Mikey, loading his bag into the back, laughed. "Can I drive?"

"Not on your life!" And Don got behind the wheel before Mikey could do anything about it.

He managed to make the trip through traffic without Mikey's constant rendition of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" driving him into a homicidal frenzy... but only just.

They arrived at April's, where she and Casey were waiting in the store with more goodies for the ones they were going to visit tonight; baskets of food, clothes, toys, all sorted and labeled with addresses, and only waiting for the final "gifts" of Donnie and Mikey.

"Hey, this thing looks great!" Casey approved. His enthusiasm for Mikey's decorations did nothing to improve Donatello's mood. Neither did April's cheerfulness, for that matter.

"Mistletoe!" she sang out, holding a sprig of the seasonal parasitic plant above Don's head and kissing his cheek-- an action she then repeated with Mikey, who seemed to enjoy it more than his morose brother.

Don gritted his teeth in response to all the Christmas cheer that was filling up the interior of the vehicle, and drove to the first address April gave him.

__

Great-- another repeat visit. How many times do we have to keep coming to this place? I'll bet that they could get help anywhere in the world-- why not work? The husband seems healthy enough! I sometimes wonder...

Children began to come out of the apartments, oohing and awwing over the fancy Christmas truck. Don and Mikey, well-covered, helped April and Casey carry in the first delivery-- and Don found out why they still needed the help.

The lady was having another kid. The husband, she cheerfully explained his absence, had found a third job to help pay for the coming even. Hopefully, once he could find the time to finish his training, he could get a better-paying job and he could spend more time at home.

Don kept quiet as the little kids peered from the bedroom, where the mother had banished them.

"After all, it's not Christmas yet!" she laughed to them, admonishing them to close that door!

Don felt like a world-class heel on the way out to the "Battle Shell"-- but he refused to let it get him out of his depression.

Mikey and Casey suddenly produced what seemed like an endless supply of candy canes, and with many cheerful shouts of "Merry Christmas!", the children eagerly accepted the candy, and waved goodbye for a long time as Don drove away; he could see them in his rearview mirror, and it brought sharply to mind that Christmas where he'd mingled with the crowd of children to accept the candy canes from the firefighter dressed as Santa.

He sighed. Even this failed to lift him from his depression.

More stops to grateful people; more kids coming out to marvel and laugh and exclaim over the "Christmas Truck"; more candy canes. Briefly, Don wondered if Mikey and Casey had been stealing them from a factory, then immediately dismissed that thought from his head. They were cheap, so buying what seemed like a million candy canes would not be a problem.

Now the van was finally empty. The last bundle was delivered to the last grateful family, the last candy canes were handed out to happy, gawking children, and at last it was time to go home.

__

As soon as we're there, this junk is coming of the "Battle Shell", Don thought fiercely. It had not done his mood any good when they had been sited by several patrol cars. His heart had nearly stopped when at one stop, two officers came up to them and complimented the decorations.

"Nice to see that the Spirit of Christmas is still strong," the older officer had said. "Seems like these past few years, people were kind of forgetting it."

"Yes," the other one had agreed. "Remember last year, when there was talk of not being able to put up the Christmas tree in the duty room? I mean, all this talk of being tolerant of others feelings-- yet no tolerance for the feelings of those that celebrate Christmas."

"I hear you," his partner had nodded. "My kid's school even this year insisted on calling it a 'Winter' Program-- not even the word 'Holiday' was to be mentioned. Of course, it was pointless as every class performed a Christmas song anyway. Well, Merry Christmas!" And they shook their hands and headed back to their patrol car.

"Wow!" Mike had grinned, turning to Don. "See? And you was worried about the police."

"Can we please get out of here before they decide to run a check on these plates?" had been Don's reply.

__

Yes, this entire bunch of stuff is coming off ASAP, he was thinking, when Mikey handed him another address.

"Just one more stop, Bro," he said.

"One more stop? We're out of gifts, Mikey. What do you mean, one more stop?"

"I promised Splinter we'd make a stop to get something," he said. Don shrugged, studied the address. If it was a store, it wasn't one he knew of. And it was all the way over on the edge of Chinatown, where a few Japanese herbal medicine stores struggled to make a living amidst the more popular Chinese ones.

Oh, well, perhaps Splinter didn't trust Don's doctoring skills-- and immediately he felt bad for ever thinking that. His Sensei was the one who had taught him about medicines and first aid. He probably needed something special.

Don sighed, and headed in the direction of this last stop.

_And **then**_, he thought, _it's home and all of these crazy decorations are coming off the "Battle Shell"!_


	12. Chapter 12

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On the Twelfth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a really, really, really long chapter! Sorry. I would break it up, but I can't figure out where! Merry Christmas! Do you hear me out there? Merry Christmas!

Mirage owns the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Mrs. Sakai and her story belong to me. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

**Chapter Twelve: Santa Claus is Coming-- to-- Town!**

They pulled up to the place. It was a small two-story building, rather old, crowded between larger, newer, more prosperous stores, yet its lights were on and looked more cheerful by comparison. Its windows were decorated for Christmas. No big shock, many stores in Chinatown put up the decorations as a way to attract outside customers. But for some reason, even Don could tell that these decorations just seemed-- well, more **meaningful**, as if the owner actually celebrated, rather than tried to draw in those who celebrated.

He killed the lights. No kids came out here looking for free candy, and it was just as well, since they had none. But Don was worried about the "other" kinds of kids-- the gangs. They'd be lucky to escape without the decorations being pulled off the "Battle Shell" by troublemakers, a thought that caused Donatello mixed emotions.

"I'll stay here," he said, scanning the neighborhood. "You go get what Splinter needs."

"Aww, jeeze, Donnie!" Mikey's trademark wheedling whine kicked in full force. "You **know** my Japanese isn't as good as yours, especially when it comes to reading it." And he shoved a list under his brother's nose. Don at once recognized the neat kanji of Splinter.

Don gave an exasperated, angry sigh, snatched the list from Mikey as well as the money he was holding out, and made a rather loud exit from the vehicle, slamming the door so hard that the thing actually rocked slightly.

Stomping up and roughly pulling open the door, he entered the well-lit store. The happy tinkling of the bell suspended over the entrance to announce customers did not do his black mood any good, and if it were not for the fact that he did not want to attract attention, he would have snatched it down and killed it in best Ninja-style.

It was a typical herbal medicine place, with crowded aisles and bins both open and closed; bundles and bunches of different scented things hung from above, and everywhere something was just within reach of the customer, all in its dried, unprepared, natural for the most part state.

There were rows and rows of boxed and bagged medicines as well, complete with instructions on dosage and what they were good for. This was a very inclusive shop it seemed. You could concoct your own combinations the old fashioned way, or you could buy the prepackaged, already prepared mixtures and save yourself the extra work.

The combined smells of licorice, raspberry leaf, garlic, rose, nutmeg-- countless scents that he could not describe or identify-- nearly overwhelmed the turtle, and it was all he could do to keep from bolting back out into the relatively fresh air outside.

As he stared around at the numerous choices, it occurred to his smart brain that even he would be here forever if he tried to search on his own. He made for the back where he saw the figure of a short, thin woman-- obviously the owner, as she was older than most assistants.

Adjusting his hat and muffler to keep himself hidden, he approached this lady, list in hand.

_"Bonsowa-ru_," he said, bowing. "_ I need some assistance in purchasing these medicines _."

He was trying to keep from making eye contact; keeping his eyes on the list, so as not to draw attention to any "green" that might be showing.

"Good evening, Hamato Donatello," came the reply in English. "I have been expecting you all night."

Don froze. His head, already rather overpowered by the olfactory assault it had been going through in this place, spun just a bit more out of control. His eyes felt glued to the list, his feet rooted to the floor. His heart was beating in a way that would under other circumstances make him think it was fear. Throat, mouth, tongue, lips were suddenly dry from shock, and his breathing was impeded by his disbelief.

With great effort, he forced himself to look this woman in the eyes.

She was silver-haired, short, and thin. Her face was youthful; despite her age, her skin was as clear and as smooth as April's. Her dark eyes twinkled in amusement at his shock, and she merely stood there, smiling at his reaction.

He made several attempts to speak, but his voice had locked up. He was sweating under the lights, weighed down with hat, coat, mittens and muffler.

"Yes," she nodded, helping him out, still smiling, and now he could see happy tears in her eyes. "I know who and what you are. I have kept the store open all night waiting for you to get here. Now I can close, and we can have a visit!"

The tinkling of the bell alerted him to more people. He knew without looking that it was the others. Who else would have reason to come in? This had been set up. Obviously.

Don, however, stood still, unable to move from the spot, while Mrs. Sakai-- for of course, it was she-- moved to lock the front door, and turn out the lights. Then, taking his arm in her small yet determined hand, she lead the four of them to the back of the store, up the stairs, and into her apartment.

"Please, remove your hats and coats," she bowed, making them welcome. "Please make yourselves comfortable! I will be right back!" And she scurried off to what they could see was the kitchen.

Don stood in the living room much as he had stood in the shop, unmoving, like a statue. Mikey, with an understanding sigh, began to relieve him of hat, muffler, and coat-- and Don finally came to life.

"No," he said, snatching the jacket back closed. For some reason he did not want to remove the coat. Mikey shrugged.

"You're gonna cook, bro. This room is well-heated."

"I'm fine, Mikey," he lied; he could already feel the oppressive heat of the jacket. He compromised and left it open, though he felt that if he clutched it tight, it would somehow protect him-- from what, he still wasn't sure, but for some reason he kept thinking he needed protection.

He forced himself to sit on the smaller couch, and finally looked around the room. The place was neat, ornate without being cluttered, small without being cramped. Many ornate yet tasteful decoratives filled special shelves and cases, attesting to her appreciation of beauty. Separated from this smaller couch by a coffee table was a larger couch, where the others were seated. A few straight back wooden chairs were scattered around, out of the way, but handy for more company. Underfoot was a beautiful yet simple rug of deep blue, thick and clean and reminding him of water for some reason.

Pictures of what he assumed were the grandchildren dominated one end of the room, and in the corner was a small family shrine, with a picture of Mr. Sakai. It had been decorated for the Christmas season, with a plate of gingerbread men, a bowl of fruit, and a small string of mini-lights edging the picture frame-- indeed, a nice-sized and beautifully decorated Christmas tree was placed next to it-- and this seemed odd to Donatello. It wasn't quite in what he'd been taught was the proper tradition.

"Let me help you, Mrs. Sakai," April suddenly said. She had looked towards the kitchen, and got up to take the enormous tray that the petite woman was now carrying into the room.

Despite her protests, April took the tray, and placed it on the coffee table as directed. Mrs. Sakai thanked her, then busied herself pouring out tea and serving tasty slices of pie.

"Pecan or pumpkin?" she asked Michelangelo, serving knife at the ready.

"Both, naturally! I remember them both as being equally delicious, so there is no way I can choose!" he laughed, and she, laughing as well, served him out a slice of each.

"Mikey!" Don protested, shocked at his brother's manners.

"No! I am so glad to have someone eat them again! My husband only ate them out of duty. My son always refused," she laughed, as Casey requested the same as Mikey, and April asked only for pecan. "My parents and I moved here when I was a little girl, and this lady who was our neighbor made these pies as a welcome gift. I was hesitant to try 'American food', but I had to be polite, so I ate a small piece of the pumpkin. It was the most amazing thing I had tasted! All smooth, and spicy, and sweet, and delicious! So, I gladly tried the second one, and it was just as good, only with the crunchy texture of the pecans and the sticky quality of the rest of the filling! I learned to bake these pies under the direction of the lady, and drove my family crazy every chance I got, making them."

Donatello still had not told her his preference. She stood, grinning, looking in expectation at him, as the others laughed at her story as well as at the turtle.

"Oh, sorry," he finally said, feeling himself turn red under the attention. "Pumpkin, please."

Quickly she handed him a nice piece of pie, and offered him some fresh whipped cream to top it with, but he refused politely.

"Anyway, that first Thanksgiving, when my husband and I decided to leave out something for dear Mr. Hamato and his family, naturally I had to make pies," she laughed, sitting down and talking as if Casey and April were completely aware of the story. "And they must have been successful, judging from the letter little Michelangelo left for me!" And she laughed at the memory. "I believe he thanked me three times and mentioned how delicious they were!"

"Yes, that sounds like 'little Michelangelo'," April laughed, and Mikey merely winked at her.

"Well, it was the polite thing to do," he defended in mock seriousness. "I surely didn't do it to get any more pies. Though it was nice of you to send us two more for Christmas," he added, bowing from his seated position to the lady in question.

Mrs. Sakai merely laughed in return, then turned her attention back to Donatello. She sat as if she were expecting something, yet for the life of him he couldn't-- or wouldn't-- figure it out.

"So, uh, Mrs. Sakai," Casey, feeling the pause in the conversation and April's elbow hint to do something in his ribs, "how long have you known the guys?"

She turned to Casey with a thoughtful frown.

"Well, my husband and I knew 'of' a Mr. Hamato and his four motherless sons for... let me see... I believe it was when they were the age of two. Or was it three? I just remember that one morning, we entered the shop to find a list of items that had been purchased, an envelope with the exact amount including tax, and a letter in Kanji apologizing for the dangerous circumstances that had required this father to break into our shop in order to provide for his four sons. I think he said they were two... but it could have been three... I know that a lot of what he bought was food for babies and toddlers. I distinctly remember the amount of mashed carrots he purchased."

Mikey made a face.

"I think I remember that part," he complained, as if he still had the taste of the nasty food on his tongue. "He kept trying to tell me that they were yummy to the tummy, but I knew better!"

Everyone laughed (except Don).

Mrs. Sakai then sighed, shaking her head.

"My memory is not as good about some things as others," she ruefully laughed. And she told Casey and April the story of the relationship that grew between the mysterious Mr. Hamato and his four sons ("quadruplets, and I was convinced at first that he was in hiding to prevent their mother from knowing where they were. After all, it had happened to several women of my acquaintance when divorce took place, and custody was awarded to them instead of the father"). Eventually she and her husband had come to the conclusion that the dear man was in hiding from the Yakuza, and they vowed to never try to wait up to catch a glimpse of this poor fellow who risked everything to feed his children!

She entertained even Michelangelo and Donatello with her stories, for they heard much that they had never realized had taken place, as well as things that brought back sharp, clear, memories. And all the time, she poured more tea, and handed out more pie, and everyone laughed at the stories-- including, finally, Donatello.

"I wish I could have seen you guys as little toddlers," April grinned wistfully. "I'll bet you were all so cute!"

"Naturally," Mikey nodded sagely. "Only, of course, I was the cutest of the four. Ask anyone." And he gladly accepted yet another double helping of pie from their hostess.

The room grew silent again, as Mrs. Sakai once more turned her attention to Don. He still seemed shy, uncertain-- almost afraid as it were. He finally looked her in the face, and saw understanding-- and amusement.

"When did you know 'about' us?" he finally asked. He'd been thinking over the past few years without realizing it, and a few things had finally made sense to him. "I know it was before I sent you the e-mail telling of why my father and I were reluctant to expose ourselves. I don't believe that you, personally, were surprised by my response."

Mrs. Sakai sighed deeply, and nodded.

"Yes," she admitted, as if getting ready to confess something shocking. Her whole attitude was one of a repentant person. She got up, approached the little shrine with her husband's photo, and for a few minutes she stood in silent communion. Then she returned to the couch and took her seat beside Don.

"We had always sworn that we would never violate the privacy-- and safety-- of Mr. Hamato," she said simply and slowly. "And we kept that oath. Or rather, my husband kept that oath."

She sighed, looking wistful.

"They say that widows whose husbands snored miss the sound that used to drive them crazy," she smiled, rather ashamed as well as with a touch of wickedness, "but that is the one thing I have never missed! His grumbling, his complaining, his picky ways-- these are the things I miss. But not his snoring. A few weeks after the New Year, we had already had an argument about something trifling, and unfortunately for me, he went to bed first. Normally, if I could get there and fall asleep before him, then I stood a good chance of not being awakened by that awful noise-- how such a little man could make such a loud noise is beyond me!"

April gave Casey a sideways glance; having heard him and Raph both once, when they'd fallen asleep at opposite ends of the couch during one of their movie nights, she could not imagine anything worse in comparison.

"Anyway, it was not long before he began to 'saw the logs' as they say, and I simply could not get any rest, so I arose. I threw a blanket around myself and went into the living room, but that terrible buzzing followed me everywhere. It was as if it were pursuing me! Bathroom, kitchen-- wherever I went, it followed!"

"Yeah, my brother Raphael snores like that," Mikey laughed cheerfully. "Even Sensei says it sounds like a bear with asthma is breathing into his ears while running a chain saw, and no matter where he tries to go to escape it, it is right there."

Mrs. Sakai laughed in return at this description.

"Well, bundled in my blanket and also covered with a bit of annoyance at my husband, I left the apartment and went down the stairs to the shop, just far enough so that I could not hear that awful noise. I sat on the steps, and told myself I would just sit here quietly for a few minutes, calm myself, then go up to bed and kick him until he stopped snoring."

Don, caught off guard by her words, laughed out loud for the first time since they'd been there-- indeed, for the first time in weeks, as Mikey knew all too well! Mikey grinned at this crack in Don's depression, and couldn't help but feel that things were going to get better very soon.

"I sat there for I do not know how long. It was taking me some time to calm down, I guess, so much time that I actually began to doze a bit-- and then I heard a whisper. 'Donatello, stay close to me-- I do not believe anyone is here, but the human scent is strong tonight'."

Don stared, thinking hard-- he sort of remembered going with Splinter sometime after Christmas-- yes, it had been because Mike was still grounded. He looked at Mrs. Sakai with great attention now.

"I thought, 'what strange dream is this?' I knew the name from the letter that both he and Mr. Hamato had left before Christmas. Why would I dream such a strange thing? I stayed as still as I could, straining my ears for any sound. Had our mysterious customers returned that night? Why would he say 'human scent'? It was all so confusing."

She paused, and sipped her tea. Mikey looked as if he wanted to prod her to continue, he was squirming so, but he held his tongue. She soon continued.

"As I sat there, I could hear movement in the shop. The steps offered only a partial view of the store, so unless I were to move or the visitors were to pass into that section, I would not be getting a glimpse of them. It crossed my mind to try to get back upstairs before I was discovered-- I did not want to violate Mr. Hamato's safety, not after all he had done for me and my husband. But unfortunately, curiosity took hold of me, and, as I was seated in a nice, dark shadow on that part of the stairs, I stayed put, confident that I would not be seen. After a few more minutes, the father seemed to relax a bit. 'Very well-- you may look, but stay within my sight. I feel uneasy. If we did not truly need these supplies, I would leave at once! Look quickly and quietly!'

"Look for what? What could he be wanting? Suddenly a small figure, short, bundled well in coat and hat, yet strangely round-- fat in a way-- came into view. Though there were few lights outside the shop, enough filtered in through the windows to illuminate that part of the store, and I was seeing one of the Hamato children. But why are they so fat? Well, not fat, but not the skinny little things I'd imagined. I could not see the face or features, but I did not worry about it. 'At least he is caring for them better than I expected, though perhaps a bit too much'."

Mikey snorted into his tea at the description of Don as "fat". Mikey had always been the smallest as a child, but Don had been the thinnest it seemed, and sometimes Splinter worried that he did not gain weight as quickly as the others.

"And then he pulled off his hat and muffler, stuffing them into his coat pocket. My first thought: that child has no hair! As he crossed into better-lit area, his features were more plain! And they were not human! I could not place them, but I knew, I just KNEW, that they were not human! No ears that I could see! No nose to break up the features! Just a broad face, more pronounced around the mouth area, large eyes-- such inquisitive eyes! Even in the dim light I could see the intelligence in them!"

Now Don blushed visibly, and ducked his head, avoiding making eye contact with the others. No one, to his relief, made any comment.

"I now could not move if you ordered me to. And not because I was afraid! I was a bit scared, true, but I was witnessing something so amazing I simply could not move! As the child grew warmer in his search, his coat was undone, and I could see better that his chest, though covered with a sweater, was rather flat, while his back appeared more curved-- yet he was not hunchbacked. The skin color was hard to determine, but I guessed it to be some sort of green. 'Kame' came into my mind, for some strange reason, though I've no idea why-- it was the closest thing I could think of to compare him to. And all the time I was examining him, he was examining the containers and boxes that were for sale in that section. Finally, once seemed to catch his eye. Carefully he examined it, opening and closing it, giving it quite a going over."

Don remembered. _Solid metal, yet lightweight; probably something used for a sturdy lunch box or some other use except tools; easy opening latch, thick, black handle on the top, the color was a nice metallic silver. It rattled in a pleasing way, and the handle seemed to fit his hand perfectly!_

"Then Mr. Hamato-- for who else could it have been-- came into view," she continued, snapping Don back to the present with her tale of the past. "Hat pulled low over his face, yet I could see that his features were also not human! Covered in a coat, taller than the son, thinner, too, yet something was not human about him! 'Donatello, we must hurry,' that whisper came again, and I froze as his gaze swept the store again. 'I feel very uneasy! My fur is prickling insistently.' He pulled off his hat for a moment, as if that would help him to search for any danger-- NEZUMI! I literally stuffed the blanket into my mouth to keep from calling out. Yet I could tell, this tall fellow, who spoke and walked and dressed as others, was nezumi! I could see the ears as they twitched this way and that, searching for any sounds; I could hear more than see the long snout as it sniffed for any possible danger. Nezumi! What will my husband say? A large, talking rat! Mr. Hamato was a large talking rat!"

Suddenly she laughed-- long and loud and cheerfully, as if remembering a good joke. The others looked at her, puzzled.

"Forgive me," she gasped, tears in her eyes, "forgive me, but I have only just now remembered what it was that you got him for his Christmas present! Tell me, did he use it once, just to make his sons happy?"

Mikey laughed as Casey and April looked on, dying to know.

"I thought Splinter would love an electric shaver," he explained, and for another few minutes the story was interrupted, this time by various visual imagery of the Rat shaving.

Then Mrs. Sakai went on:

" 'Father,' came a whispered voice to my ears, cutting into my shock. 'Father, may I please buy this box for my tools? I think that it is of good quality, and worth the price.'

"Mr. Hamato, momentarily distracted from his watch for danger, gave his attention to this one asking the question, and examined the object in question.

" 'Yes, Donatello-- I believe that you are correct. I will add some money to it so you will have enough.'

" 'Oh,' the voice sounded a bit disappointed. 'Never mind, then... I thought I had enough. I don't want to take any of the supply money for this. I'll wait until next time.' And nothing his father said would persuade him to buy that box! Mr. Hamato finally gave up, put his own hat back on, bundled his little son back up, and they were gone in a flash."

She sighed, shaking her head at the memory.

"I sat on the stairs for many minutes, to afraid to move in case they had not made good their escape. After I had determined that it was completely quiet, I went down and looked. Sure enough, there on the counter was the familiar envelope with the letter and money. Then I looked at the box that Donatello had wanted. I don't remember the price-- not more than twenty dollars. I'm guessing that you had forgotten about sales tax?"

Addressed like this, Don, who had been lost in the story as well as his memory, started.

"Uh, yeah... I mean, yes. Yes, I believe I did," he replied, rather embarrassed. He had always prided himself on knowing money better than his brothers, but the joy of finding the perfect tool box had temporarily blinded him to the harsh realities of the world of commerce. And there was no way he would take even a dime of Father's precious supply money for something selfish.

"I was going to save it for you," she sighed, thinking back to that night. "It was the last one. We'd only had a few, and they had taken a long time to sell. I thought 'I will save this for Donatello'. But I left it on the shelf for the time being. My husband was very aware of our inventory, and if I were to remove it, he would not believe any story I told. Unfortunately, three days later, when I had a good excuse to get it, it was gone! He had sold it for half price to someone else! He could not understand why I was upset with him that day." And she laughed in memory of the scolding she'd indulged in that day and the confusion of her husband at receiving the full brunt of it.

"So, when you sent your e-mail, I knew, but I never told my husband. And he never told me of his visit with Mr. Hamato, except to say that it was the most amazing experience of his life, and he was glad that he had lived to meet such a being," she finished.

Don sat there, taking it all in. She had known. All this time, she had known. The others chatted with her of this and that; questions and answers and other stories of how their paths had crossed and how their friendships had formed swirled around him, but he was too busy thinking of this story and that Christmas so long ago.

"Well, Don," Mikey said, catching his attention. "We'd better get going. We've been parked out there longer than I anticipated. Don't want a parking ticket, do we?"

She had known. All this time. And never told, not even her husband.

Or Splinter.

Had he known that night? His senses were so acute; nothing got by him! All four of them knew that from personal experience. Had he known that she was on the stairs, and had posed no threat? Or had his son taken up his attention that night?

"Well, Donatello?" Mrs. Sakai said, as they got up to leave. "And are you feeling better?"

"Feeling better?"

"Yes," she said sternly, not to be avoided. "Has this visit lifted you out of the depression? Have you regained your Christmas Spirit? Are you feeling better?"

Once again he felt that he needed protection. He clutched his jacket to himself. He looked to Mikey for explanation or help or anything. Mikey faced him calmly and seriously.

"Dude, you have not been yourself for months," he said. "It's been bad enough the way Leo has been acting. But the stress of everything, combined with that, was tearing you up. Even Raph noticed that you haven't been your normal self. And the closer it got to Christmas, the more we could see the depression. It's sort of been coming on for a few years-- at least, that's what I think."

He glanced at the others, then tuned them out.

"Look, when we were six, you did the greatest thing for me that anyone ever did-- you helped me have a real Christmas! You made my Christmas wishes come true, every single one of them. Even when it looked like I'd ruined everything, you kept me going, pushing me to keep dreaming. I swore then that someday I would find you the best present in the entire world to pay you back for what you did that Christmas. But nothing ever seemed good enough."

He sighed sadly, thinking over the past year.

"Then, when everyone could finally see what I'd started seeing earlier; that you were depressed each year at this time; well, I just knew that I had to find a way to bring you out of it. And if I could do that, then I would be paying you back the best way I knew how. But I couldn't think of anything. I thought getting you involved in what we've done for the past few years would do the trick, and it seemed to work. But this year I could tell you just didn't buy into it anymore."

He stepped closer to his silent brother, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then, Splinter told me that perhaps finding Mrs. Sakai might help cheer you up. He had a feeling that you regretted losing touch with her; some sorta 'Splinter hunch', you know? Nothing gets by him. April helped me track her down-- took a bit of work, what with the number of Mrs. Sakais in the City, plus we had no way of knowing if she was still in the country. Finally we found her. Casey, April and me came to meet her, and believe me, it blew me away that she didn't seemed too surprised at my appearance."

He turned a smile on Mrs. Sakai.

"Now I know why you said what you did-- 'Kame! So I was right after all'!"

"So, Donatello," Mrs. Sakai said, once again looking him in the eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

Instead of answering, he carefully put his arms around her and hugged her, desperately wanting to squeeze her tight, but afraid of hurting her. She, however, squeezed quite hard. No one said anything for several minutes.

"Can you come to our place for Christmas?" he asked, voice hoarse. She smiled up at him, ran a hand across one wet cheek.

"No. My son and his family will be here in a few days to celebrate the season. But now that you know where I live, I trust that you will visit me once in a while!"

Don nodded, smiled, and hugged her again. Then final goodbyes were said, her best wishes were sent to "Dear Mr. Hamato" and before Don realized it, they were in the still decorated "Battle Shell" headed home.

All the way home, Don was silent-- happy but silent. It was a good thing that Casey was driving; his mind would not have been on the road, and they would have probably ended up in a bad accident.

They stopped long enough for Casey and April to go home, then Mikey finished the short drive to the abandoned garage. The lateness of the hour was helpful in keeping prying eyes from spotting the fantastically tricked out truck as Mikey pulled into the garage.

"Don," Mikey finally broke the silence. "Don, are you okay?"

Don nodded, climbing out of the "Battle Shell" and heading for the elevator.

Mikey shook his head; he had thought that this would have been just what his brother needed. He had seemed better; yet this continued silence... perhaps he and Splinter had been wrong?

On the ride down, Mikey, who lived for conversation, couldn't take the silence any longer.

"Don, I'm sorry."

Startled.

"For what?"

"Well, um--" The doors opened at that moment, and Donatello, without waiting for the rest of Mikey's reason, gave his brother a quick, powerful hug.

"Mikey, that was the best thing anyone has ever done for me! Thank-you!"

Then, releasing his pleased brother, he made a beeline for Splinter's room.

He didn't knock; he just entered, spying the Rat sitting near his desk where he did his calligraphy and other writing. Without any words he crossed the room swiftly, nearly flopped to his knees, grabbed his father in a hug and tried to bury his face into his chest, as he had used to do when a child. If he could have, he would have crawled into his lap.

Splinter, startled for the moment, was quick to recover. With great difficulty due to his son's size and the bulky coat he still wore, Splinter managed to get his arms more or less around his son, to "cradle" him as he had used to do when they were children, and to rock him as if he had crawled into his lap while Splinter was sitting in the old rocking chair.

"Thank you," was all he could say after getting his voice back under control; he'd been crying without realizing it for quite some time. When he had first tried to address Splinter, his voice had just made a sort of sobbing sound, startling its happy owner. But now Donatello had control of it again. "Thank you, Father. Thank-you."

"You are welcome, my son," came the soothing reply. "You are most welcome, Donatello. Merry Christmas."


End file.
